The Altered View Monday Can Bring
by Nova Mist
Summary: *UPDATED! CHAPTERS 10-12 ADDED!* What happened to John, Claire, Allison, Brian and Andy after that Saturday Detention? Did they work it all out, or did even more problems arise for each of them. PG for mild language. Please R&R!
1. The Misery of John Bender

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**The Altered View Monday Can Bring**

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**Author's Note: **okay, I wrote this about two years ago over two days when I was ill, but never posted it, not because I didn't want to (although it's probably safer for all those who are still sane in this world that I don't – joking!), but because my computer crashed and lost the file. What I had forgotten, however, was that I had this on disk, albeit in a more incomplete form – ie: only part of chapter one instead of the whole thing. Which means that I will have to try and remember what all those seventeen or so chapters contained and rewrite it all. Oh well. 

**Another Author's Note: **Also note the fact that this will most likely mainly – and maybe completely - circulate around Claire and John, with only smaller interludes about the others. Why? Because of all five of the characters, John and Claire intrigued me the most, I guess. Anyway, please read and review! Send any feedback to nova_mist@yahoo.com Thanks!****

**Disclaimer:** Me no own Breakfast Club, John Hughes does. Any characters and characterisations of people that were in The Breakfast Club but were never developed (i.e: the parents) – and anything else - you don't recognise and the plot line belongs to me. The characters you _do_ recognise belong to John Hughes, and I am simply shamelessly using them for my own devices and evil plans. *cackles*

**Please ignore the shitty state of my writing of late. I have writer's block that I just can't seem to shift, and by writing this, I hope to free it up. If that's actually _possible_!**

**Also, please tell me whether or not everyone is OOC here or not. I think they all are, but, eh. **

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**The Altered View Monday Can Bring**

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**March 26th, 1984**

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**Chapter One**

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John Bender sat in the passenger seat of his father's car, scowling. It was a great rarity that John's father drove him to school. His mother drove John to school sometimes, but never his father. It made John incredibly uncomfortable, being in such a small, enclosed space with his father. In the back of his mind, John wondered why on earth his father was driving him to school in the first place: normally John Snr. just kept as far away from his son as possible…unless he wanted to beat the crap out of him, that is. Like he did last night. His father had thrown a punch at him that he hadn't managed to dodge in time, which earned him a nasty bruise on the right side of his face, which he had managed to hide under his longish hair. There were bruises all up his left arm and on his left hand were four deep cuts caused by the jagged edge of his father's broken beer bottle…

John shivered involuntarily at his thoughts. 

"You cold, Johnny?" 

It took John a moment to register the fact that his father was speaking to him. He whipped his head around in surprise to find his father looking at him, while at the same time keeping one eye on the road. 

"Pardon?" John asked. 

John Snr glared at his son, exasperated. "What are you, deaf?" he snapped. "I asked you if you were cold." He repeated before looking back at the road. 

John blinked. "Ah, a bit." John replied, glancing briefly at the pouring rain out of the window behind his father.

"Well, this rust bucket does have a heater, you know." His father said testily. 

"You don't mind if I turn it on?" John asked, dumbstruck.

His father looked at him sharply. "Well of course I don't!" he snapped at his son, before once again turning both eyes back to the road ahead.

"Gee, Dad, I didn't know you cared." John snapped back, leaning forward and turning the heater on.

"Well, we can't have you getting sick 'cause you're cold, can we? Do you know how expensive some of those fucking antibiotics are?" John Snr snarled, never taking his eyes off the road. 

John was silent. _Well, of course he doesn't actually care about you!_ He snarled at himself. _You're nothing but a burden, remember? A waste of time and money. _He reminded himself bitterly. To his disgust, there were hot tears pricking behind his eyes.

"Well, we're here." His father's voice cut through John's miserable thoughts. "Oi, Johnny! You awake in there?!" he waved a hand in front of his son's face. "We're here! Out you get." His father snapped.

John turned to face his father, who was slowly turning red from impatience. John Snr opened his mouth to say something harsh, when he suddenly noticed the silvery sheen of unshed tears that were apparent over his son's dark eyes. "You aren't…" he paused, and then continued hesitantly. "Umm…crying...are you, Johnny?" his father asked, uncomfortable. 

Anger flared in John's eyes, and he angrily blinked his tears away. "Nah, Dad, I ain't crying." John snapped, his voice cracking slightly. "That would be a sign of emotion right? Of weakness. Can't have that!" he snapped, reaching over to try and open the car door, yet fumbling on the handle, breathing hard. 

John Snr sat there, not sure of what to do. He slowly leaned over his son, and opened the door for him. He did not fail to notice the fact that his son stiffened as soon as he leaned over him. He looked up at his son, and, for the first time in many years, truly saw John. He looked his son in the eyes, and to his horror, saw traces of fear in the eyes of his only child. 

John Snr leaned back over to his side, and his son stared at him. He opened his mouth to say something to John, but John had already slid out of the car and slammed the car door behind him. John Bender Snr watched silently as he watched his child storm angrily across the parking lot, shoving his way through a gang of ninth grade girls as he went. 

And, in his mind, a thought occurred to John Snr: _What the fuck have I done to my kid?_

With that thought still echoing in his head, John Bender Snr hit the gas and sped out of the high school parking lot as fast as the wheels of his four-wheel-drive would take him.

What he didn't see was the way John looked at the retreating vehicle, wishing to God that he had been born someone else. 

He turned and, shoving his way through another gang of ninth-graders, walked slowly across the parking lot. 


	2. Princess Claire's dose of Reality

_For all other author's notes and the disclaimer see Chapter One. Please read them before reading the fic. Thanks. Send feedback to nova_mist@yahoo.com Please read and review._****

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**The Altered View Monday Can Bring**

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**March 26th, 1984**__

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Chapter Two 

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Claire Standish got out of her mother's silver Mercedes-Benz, picking up her purse as she went. 

"Bye, darling," Penelope Standish, Claire's mother, said stiffly to her daughter, avoiding eye contact.

Claire looked at her mother's face, which was plastered with an unusually high amount of foundation, something neither she nor her mother normally wore. "Bye, mother." she replied sadly, and shut the car door behind her, and stormed across the parking lot to the front steps of Shermer High School without looking back. And it was only after hearing the unmistakable purring of the Mercedes-Benz's engine disappear as her mother disappeared from the parking lot that Claire turned around to look mournfully at the retreating silver car. She flopped down on the steps, ignoring the strange looks of those around her, who were obviously wondering why The Princess was sitting in such an ordinary, common, and possibly unsanitary place. 

But at that moment, the Earth itself could have descended into the fiery pits of Hell and Claire wouldn't have noticed she was so absorbed in her thoughts, her parents' angry voices echoing in her head. 

"Why the Hell don't you ever listen to me? I grounded her, and you immediately jump up as soon as my back is turned and tell her it's okay if she leaves the house?" Penelope yelled angrily. 

_"But, Penny, she _didn't_ leave the house!" Terrence Standish, Claire's father, retorted._

_"Although I do appreciate the fact that, for once, our daughter actually followed my instructions, Terrence, that isn't the point! The point is that you went behind my back and told her she was perfectly welcome to disobey me if she thought it fit to do so!" Penelope screeched. _

_Quite suddenly, Claire's father had lunged forward as if to hit his wife. _

_"Don't you EVER tell me what I can and can't do!" Terrence snarled, his open hand connecting with his wife's cheek._

_"BASTARD!" Penny screamed, clutching her stinging cheek. "I'm going to KILL YOU!"_

_Claire could take it no longer. She stormed down the stairs into the kitchen, and lunged between her parents. "STOP IT!" she yelled. "STOP IT! You're acting like children! You don't have to fight all the time!" Claire paused, and her voice lowered almost to a whisper. "I hate it when you fight." She said quietly, tears streaming silently down her cheeks. _

_Her father looked down at her then. "Well, maybe if we didn't have you, we wouldn't fight so much, you worthless bitch." He snarled at her, raising his hand to her. Claire looked up, frightened. The man that looked back at her was not her father, but held the face of a stranger, his blue eyes hot and wild and dangerous. _

_But before he could bring the hand down to connect with his daughter's cheek, Penny stepped in, grabbing the hand in mid-air. _

_"You will NOT hit out daughter!" she hissed. _

_Claire looked fearfully from her mother to her father and back again. Two total strangers stood there, their eyes blazing, a silent standoff occurring between them._

_Finally, Terrence yanked his hand away from Penny's grasp, cursing under his breath. He blazed out of the kitchen. _

_Claire looked at her mother, who was still frozen in place, lost in thought. _

_"Mum?" Claire asked timidly. _

_Her mother shook her head slightly, as if to snap herself out of her thoughts. "Yes, darling?" she asked._

_"Are…are you alright?" _

_Her mother smiled slightly. "Yes, Claire, I'm fine." She paused. "Your father will be staying in a motel tonight, and I'm going to sleep now. I'll see you in the morning." She kissed her daughter on the forehead, and trotted quickly up the stairs, leaving Claire alone in the kitchen._

_Alone and ridiculously confused. _

_Claire gripped the kitchen bench for support and sank to her knees on the cold tiles, and she cried and cried until she didn't have any tears left. And then, alone, she trudged up to her bedroom and slammed the door behind her._

Claire shook her head slightly to clear her head of her unwanted thoughts about Saturday night screaming match between her parents. "And I thought my life was supposed to be perfect." Claire sneered under her breath. "Yeah, it's perfect alright. All my parents ever do is fight, my father is still at the motel, and the only thing I could think about on Sunday was John Bender."

In fact, she'd been thinking about him on Saturday night, too. Particularly after the fight her parents had. She smiled to herself slightly, thinking back to Saturday night. _Well, John, The Princess finally got a taste of the real world._ Claire had thought to herself, smiling bitterly. _But I bet that a fight like my parents just had was nothing compared to what you must live with. You must have to be a very strong person to be able to survive all that shit like you do. And dickheads like Vernon picking at you constantly wouldn't help._ She mused. __

On Saturday and Sunday, Claire had thought about John, but also about Brian, Allison and Andrew, the other three of the five people that made up the 'Breakfast Club', as Brian had called them. 

"What is going to happen to us on Monday? When all together again? I mean I consider you guys my friends…So, what happens?" Brian had asked everyone.

"Are we still friends, you mean? If we're friends now, that is?" Claire had replied.

"Yeah..." Brian whispered.

"Do you want the truth?" Claire asked.

"Yeah, I want the truth..."

"I don't think so..." she replied after a moment, feeling strangely light-headed, but not from the pot.

"Well, do you mean all of us or just John?" Allison asked in little more than a whisper.

"With all of you..." Claire had said, trying to ignore the nasty sicking feeling she felt in her stomach when she said that.

"That's a real nice attitude, Claire!" Andrew snapped.

Claire glared at him. "Oh, be honest, Andy...if Brian came walking up to you in the hall on Monday, what would you do? I mean picture this, you're there with all the sports. I know exactly what you'd do, you'd say hi to him and when he left you'd cut him all up so your friends wouldn't think you really liked him!" she sneered at him.

"No way!" Andy replied hotly.

"'Kay, what if I came up to you?" Allison asked smoothly.

"Same exact thing." Claire replied softly. she felt sick, as though she'd swallowed sour milk.

The others were silent, contemplating all that had been said. all, except for John Bender. "You are a bitch!" he screamed at her furiously.

Claire looked up quickly, surprised that John as so angry. "Why? Because I'm telling the truth, that makes me a bitch?" she retorted.

John shook his head, and looked her right in the eyes. "No! Because you know how shitty that is to do to someone! And you don't got the balls to stand up to your friends and tell them that you're going to like who you want to like!"

Later, when Claire had gone to see John in the closet Vernon had locked him in, they talked for a long time. 

"You know what you said earlier about standing up to my friends, and telling them 'I'll like who I want to like'?" she asked him.

John looked up at her from his seat on the bundle of boxes. "Yeah," he said casually.

Claire had paused for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts. "Sometimes I wonder if I have the strength inside me to do that, John. To stand up to them. To tell them what I really think about them. Before now, I simply didn't think about their superficiality, I blocked it out, or maybe it just never occurred to me to think about it. I don't know. But today…today I realised just how shallow my 'friends' and I all are."

She looked at John again, to find him looking up at her thoughtfully. "What do you mean by 'friends'?" he asked her. "You said it in a tone bordering on cynical." 

Claire sighed. "John, I'm not completely stupid." She said, regretting it immediately, thinking John would say something sarcastic about her being stupid. But whiny she looked back at him, he was still sitting there, thoughtful look on his face, listening to her intently. Pleasantly surprised, Claire continued quickly in case John changed his mind and said something snide. "I know that people like Mandy Parker and Brittany Sloane and Jody Hunting are my friends because of who my parents are and who their parents are. They aren't really my friends. We're just a clique, nothing more."

John let out a low whistle. "Wow, that's gotta be a bitch." 

Claire smiled at the memory, wondering if her friends...    

"Claire! Over here!"

"Speak of the devil," Claire muttered, looking up to see Mandy, Brittany and Jody sauntering over to meet her from across the parking lot.

They all sat down next to Claire on the stairs. "Oh my GAWD! You will not BELIEVE what happened to me on the weekend!" Mandy squealed. "My parents took my little brother, Sammy, and I out on the yacht, right, and it was so gross! My parents were being so lovey-dovey and mushy to each other. It was disgusting!"

Claire felt the overwhelming urge to spit in her face. To stop herself from doing so, Claire looked over at the 4x4 speeding out of the parking lot, watching it retreat into the distance, and the dark figure storming angrily away from it. The figure looked up, revealing his face – well, half of it, anyway – but Claire knew all along who it was. 

"Who are you looking at, Claire?" Jody asked, while Mandy and Brittany started to share stories of how "totally, like, _gross_!" it was when parents showed displays of affection in public. 

Still watching John, who was getting closer by the second, Claire smiled thinly. She was about to reply when a sudden gush of wind swept across the landscape, blowing John's hair away from his face for the briefest of moments, revealing the nasty bruise on his face which was stating to swell. Before she knew what she was doing, she had bolted down the stairs and was racing over to John's side, leaving Jody, Mandy and Brittany behind her, their mouths hanging open from shock.


	3. Allison's Triumphant Return to her fathe...

**Author's Note:** okay, sorry about the wait, just read the announcement that is posted under this section. It' isn't through this account, but through a joint one I have with a friend of mine. Read that and you will know exactly why there has been a massive wait between chapters. But the good news is that I have the story planned all the way up to chapter fifteen, and chapters four, five and chapter six (where we finally find out what happened between John and Claire) are finished! Any writer's block concerning this fic seems to be gone for now, which is good! Anyway, enjoy! Please Read and Review!

_For all other author's notes and the disclaimer see Chapter One. Please read them before reading the fic. Thanks. Send feedback to nova_mist@yahoo.com Please read and review._****

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**The Altered View Monday Can Bring**

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**March 26th, 1984**

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# Chapter Three - Allison's Triumphant Return to her Father's List of Priorities

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Allison Reynolds was still quietly fascinated by the fact that she was letting everyone see her face, and was not uncomfortable by it. Using the same makeup technique that Claire had shown her on Saturday, Allison had spent at least half an hour perfecting it that morning in front her mirror. 

Her thoughts over the weekend had been mainly focused on the Saturday detention she had shared with Claire Standish, the Princess; John Bender, the Criminal; Brian Johnson, the Brain; and Andrew Clark, the Athlete…and she, Allison, the Basket-case, had actually made friends with these people. Allison hadn't really had friends of any real substance since halfway through ninth grade, when she transferred from one of the large Chicago high schools, to Shermer High School. The guidance counsellor, Ronald Hashimoto, told her she would settle in no time. But by halfway through ninth grade, everyone was already formed into their own little cliques and groups: the jocks, the brains, the drama-freaks. None of which Allison really fit into. So she became The Weirdo, one with many acquaintances, yet no real friends. It was now part of the way through tenth grade, and Allison was an outcast. All she ever wanted was a friend. Then maybe the way her parents ignored her would be bearable. If she knew she had friends – even one friend – it would all be bearable. 

## But now I do have friends. Allison thought to herself as she looked out the window of her father's car. Claire, John, Brian and Andy…especially Andy. But are they really my friends? Or will it be like I'm afraid of: as soon as we all walk into the school gates today, it will all be as if Friday never happened. No, I hope it isn't. Please, don't let it be like that! Allison pleaded, pulling Andy's blue zip-up sweatshirt tighter around herself. Never before had Allison really relied on anyone, even when she was back with her old friends in Chicago. But now she was relying on these four people who she barely knew, yet knew so well. 

## How had Allison thought of them before that Saturday detention? How could Allison, of all people, had thought there was nothing more to these four people than their stereotypes?

## Claire Standish. Conceited Claire. The Princess. All she cared about was hair and clothes and nail polish. She had no substance to her. Claire was the type that would look down on social misfits like Allison. Yet had incredible compassion when she let herself show it. She had stepped forward and befriended Allison when no one was forcing her to. 

_"Why are you being so nice to me?" Allison asked curiously. _

_Claire smiled. "Because you're letting me," she replied._

So even though Claire was sometimes bitchy, shallow, and self-obsessed, there were other aspects to Claire Standish that she let very few see. 

And John Bender: The Criminal. He strolled into the room at the beginning of that detention, calm and collected. As if nothing affected him. As if he didn't give a rat's arse about the fact he was stuck in detention on a Saturday, with a bunch of near-strangers, and a teacher that liked nothing better than attempting to get a rise out of him. He made out that he was affected by nothing, and cared about nothing. 

_"When you grow up, your heart dies." Allison whispered. _

_"Who cares?" John replied flippantly. John was lying: he cared. Allison could hear it in his voice._

John did not have a happy home life. It was far unhappier – or more unsatisfying - than Allison's would ever be. His parents didn't ignore him, but his father was an abusive alcoholic. She didn't know how abusive John bender Snr was, exactly, but she knew about the cigar burn on John's right arm. She hadn't seen it, but from the looks on Andy and Claire's faces, she knew that it had been bad. No wonder John was so cynical. But, Allison knew that the cynicism and sarcasm was nothing but a mask. Beneath that, John was a very different person, just as confused and unsure as everyone else.

## And what of Brian Johnson – the nerd, the tech-head, the geek? Her fellow weirdo in the eyes of the in-crowd. One who had nearly killed himself just because he got an F in shop? He was so awkward around everyone: in awe of Claire, unsure about Andy, scared of John…and intrigued by Allison, it seemed. Like he wondered what she was really like under her hair, the dark clothes, and the black makeup that she used to render herself invisible. He had spoken to her kindly, as if she were his equal. 

## But it had been Andy – Andrew Clark, Super-Jock – that had been the first to speak to Allison in any way that could be considered a real conversation. At first she had been so shocked that he was speaking to her that she didn't answer. But by the end of the day they were talking so well that they knew almost everything about each other's home lives. He knew how Allison's parents ignored her; she knew of how all Andy's father did was push Andy to his limits, while his mother drank herself into a stupor to escape it all. 

## Allison knew all these people, and they knew her. All with their own stereotype and their own clique. But they had overcome all of that, and in nine hours, they had become the most unlikely of friends. Some of the best friends Allison had ever had. And yet Allison knew that if they all accessed their own inner strength, they would remain friends. 

## If. 

## Allison sighed. She was depressing herself again. What will be, will be. She reminded herself. It will all work itself out. Stop worrying. She told herself as her father, Bill Reynolds, pulled into the car park. Just focus on how you can get your parents to stop ignoring you.

She turned to her father. "Thanks for driving me to school…Daddy." Allison said quietly, blundering over the unfamiliarity of the word "Daddy". 

Bill looked at her, surprised.

Allison smiled at him, and leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. "Bye, Daddy." she said, smiling. 

Her father was still looking at her. Then he smiled. "See you this afternoon, sweetheart." He replied. 

Allison nodded and got out of the car. "Have fun at school, Ally." Her father said, before driving off. 

Allison grinned. She was feeling better already. 

## Feeling upbeat, Allison strolled casually across the car park, ignoring the curious glances she was getting from anyone looking her way. 

## "John! John!" 

## Allison turned just in time to see Claire running over towards John, who was storming across the car park looking grumpy. He had his longish hair pulled halfway across his face in such a way that Allison sensed that he might be using it to hide something. Claire reached out and touched John gently on the arm, and John looked up startled.

## Allison turned away, smiling. It was Claire running over to John, not the other way around. So Claire the Conceited didn't just want to forget Saturday and ignore John, Allison and Brian like it never happened. Well, Claire didn't want to ignore John, at least, but that didn't mean that she wouldn't still ignore the rest of them…

## Shut up! Allison snapped at herself. It's a good sign. Stop being so negative!

## And with that thought echoing in her mind, Allison walked quickly to her locker to retrieve her maths book.


	4. Andrew's Brilliant Career

**Author's Note:**4WD = four-wheel drive, which is…oh what do the Americans call them? SUVs, I think. And please, don't hesitate to tell me if you think the characters are too OOC, or if any chapter is coming across as being lazily or hastily written. I guess I'm biased, though. My favourite characters are Claire and John, so, if I had it my way, the entire fic would be just about them. Oh well. This fic is about everyone, after all, to an equal degree. Please read and review! 

_For all other author's notes and the disclaimer see Chapter One. Please read them before reading the fic. Thanks. Send feedback to nova_mist@yahoo.com Please read and review._****

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**The Altered View Monday Can Bring**

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**March 26th, 1984**

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# Chapter Four – Andrew's Brilliant Career

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Andrew Clark had a wrestling meet on Sunday. He also had one the following Saturday. The meet he went to on Sunday was one that Andy was not informed he was going to until twelve hours before the event. His father had once again taken Andy's life into his own hands and melded it to suit him without consulting Andy first. Not that Andy had minded too much. With the party at Stubby's place being postponed for a month because of Stubby's parents being back temporarily, he had nothing better to do. So Andy had gone to the wrestling meet. He had gone. He had competed. He had kicked that other guy's arse. He had gone home, trophy in hand, wanting to do nothing but fall into bed and sleep, never mind that it was only 4:30 in the afternoon. Andy was tired. He needed to sleep. He needed to unwind. Normally, wrestling did that for him, to a certain degree. The joy of winning so that his father, Phillip Clark, would look at his son with pride in his eyes. 

But none of that mattered to Andy anymore. Not as much, anyway. His Saturday detention with a brain, a Princess, a criminal and a basket-case…it had opened his eyes. It had brought him back to reality. Winning was good, a great feeling, but it wasn't everything. And it had taken Allison Reynolds, the resident basket-case, to show him that.

Allison wasn't like a lot of the other girls Andy knew. She wasn't a suck-up, or a geek, or a spoilt brat. 

She was amazing. Even before Claire had given Allison a makeover, which had revealed her face, Andy had thought she was pretty. He didn't care what she looked like. He liked her as a person, and what she looked like physically didn't matter. 

_But will she want to know me?_ Andy asked himself. _It's not as if she's one of those people trying to climb the social ladder by latching onto a member of the so-called in-crowd._ Andy mused. _But would be worse is if I fuck this up. Like Claire said, what if I just blow Allison off? She wouldn't want to know me. She'd hate me. Would I actually be strong enough to stand up to my friends if they gave me shit over it? I'm not really that strong of a person…they've made me cave in before, they can do it again. _Andy closed his eyes briefly. _Please, God, don't let me fuck this up. Let me have the strength to stand up to my friends if they're being arseholes like usual. Please, don't let me fuck this up. _Andy prayed. _If Allison cares enough to open my eyes to my attitude about winning, surely she cares enough to at least be my friend. _

But even though Andy's attitude to winning had changed, it appeared that his father's hadn't. 

"All I'm saying, Andy, is that you really do need to work on your attitude." Phillip said to his son as he pulled the family 4WD into the Shermer High School parking lot. "On Sunday at that meet, you just weren't focusing. Your performance was rather lacklustre, if you ask me." 

"Yeah, well, I didn't ask you, did I?" Andy muttered, becoming more and more aggravated by the second.

Phillip didn't hear his son's comment, and went on. "If you keep this attitude up, and you compete, you'll start losing matches and-"

"I won on Sunday, didn't I?" Andy cut in sharply. 

"Yes, but if you keep this up, you'll start losing. And that would bring disgrace to this family, Andy. This is a family of winners. You have to win, Andy. You have to win and-"

"Is that all that matters to you?!" Andy exploded. "That I win? 'Win, Andy, win!' you tell me. Never mind what I want! Well, Dad, I won! I got another fucking trophy for you to show off to everyone!" Andy spat, sliding out of the car. He held the door open for a moment, while Phillip looked at his son, dumbfounded. "So just get the fuck off my back!" Andy yelled, slamming the car door behind him. There were a number of people staring at Andy due to his outburst at his father. "What the fuck are you all looking at?!" he snapped. They all looked away. 

Andy stomped across the car park without looking back, but feeling incredibly relieved when he heard his father's car pull out of the car park and back out onto the road. He was so wrapped up in his own problems he couldn't see anything that was going on around him. Storming up the stairs, Andy entered the main hallway, only to see some of his fellow jocks milling around. They hadn't seen Andy yet, and he wanted to keep it that way. He lost himself in the crowd, and walked quickly to the first intersection in the hallway, jumping in quickly to avoid being seen by-

"AHH!"

Andy was knocked off balance due to the fact that he had bumped into someone, knocking their books out of their hands. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" Andy's voice died in his throat as he looked up to see who he had bumped into. "Allison!" Andy squeaked. He cleared his throat. "Ummm, hi." He said awkwardly, bending down to pick up Allison's books. 

Allison smiled shyly. "Hi, Andy." She said, just as awkward as Andy was. "Thank you." Allison said, as Andy gave her books back to her. 

"Ummm, would like to come to my locker with me?" Andy asked, then mentally slapped himself. _What a stupid question to ask a girl! "Would you like to come to my locker with me?" Jesus, Clark, you're losing your touch. _

So Andy surprised when Allison smiled and him and nodded. "I'd love to." 

And they walked down the hall together. 


	5. The Beginnings of Vicissitude for the St...

**Author's Note:** well, this started out as the shortest chapter of the first six, and is now the second-longest. Scary. Especially considering Brian is probably my least favourite character…as well as Andy, I guess. Not that they aren't great characters, too, I like them, but I just like John, Claire and Allison better. And I only like Claire because she isn't as conceited as she seems…in this fic, anyway *winks*. And because she likes John… 

_For all other author's notes and the disclaimer see Chapter One. Please read them before reading the fic. Thanks. Send feedback to nova_mist@yahoo.com Please read and review._****

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**The Altered View Monday Can Bring**

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**March 26th, 1984**

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# Chapter Five – The Beginnings of Vicissitude for the Stereotypical Geek 

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BBBBRIIIIINNG! BBBBRIIIIIIIINNNNGG! BBBBRIIIIINNG! BBBBRIIIIIIIINNNNGG!

Brian Johnson rolled over in his bed and groaned. "How can it be time to get up already?" he muttered, rolling over onto his side, and squinting at the glowing red numbers of his digital clock radio. The numbers 3:00AM blinked in sequence. Only then did it occur to Brian that it had been the phone that had woken him, and not the strings of Duran Duran. 

Rolling over again, he got out of bed, and walked into the hallway, annoyed at his own stupidity of leaving his door wide open. "No wonder I could hear the damn phone ringing." He muttered to himself. He picked up the handset, and was about to say the mandatory "Hello?", when he heard his father say it instead. He was going to hang up the phone when he heard something that woke him up better than any caffeine-induced drink ever would. 

"Dominic, Dom, Aunt Mabel is very ill."

"What, on her death-bed?" Dominic, Brian's father, sounded alarmed. "Is she on her death-bed, Marge?"

"Oh, Heaven's no!" Dominic's sister, Marjorie, responded quickly. "Just very, very ill. She is requesting your presence." She added. 

"Me? Why does she want to see me?" Dominic asked, confused. 

There was a great sigh of exasperation from the other end of the line. "Because _you_, Dom, are her favourite nephew. Actually, you are her favourite relative, period. And she wants to see you." 

Listening in on the extension phone in the upstairs hallway, the mouthpiece covered by his hand so his father wouldn't hear him breathing, Brain could hardly stop himself from shouting with glee. _Dad's going away for a while! _Brain thought happily. _Finally, he'll get off my arse about my schoolwork for a while! Now if only **Mum** could go away suddenly…_

"Oh, oh, right, right, of course." Dominic stuttered, and Brian had to bite down on his bottom lip to keep from bursting out laughing. "I'll be there ASAP. But…err…Marge, you know that money is a bit tight…"

Brian felt a red blush creep up his neck. He hated being financially insecure. 

"Yes, yes, as it always is." Marge cut in impatiently. "Aunty Mabel wants to see you so much that she's paid for you plane ticket."

"_WHAT_?!" Dominic yelled in surprise, causing Brian to jump back and hold his ear. He nearly had a heart attack when he heard his mother, Sally, and his younger sister, Angelica, both groan in their sleep because of the noise his father was making. But neither of them had woken up. 

Brian breathed a deep sigh of relief, and pressed the phone back to his ear. 

"What?!" Dominic repeated in a low hiss a moment later, when he had calmed down. 

"Just come over to my place now, Dom," Marge sounded tired. "I have the ticket here. Your flight leaves in two hours." 

"_Two hours_?!" Dom shrieked, but quietly. "Shit! I have to get packed! I'll be there in twenty minutes. Bye Marge, and thank you."

"That's alright. Bye." Marge replied.

But Brian had already hung up, and raced back to his bedroom. He dived under the covers, trying to regulate his breathing to sound like he was asleep. The next time he opened his eyes, it was because Duran Duran was blasting through his clock radio. 

"I went back to sleep?" Brian asked no one. Then, he shrugged, and walked downstairs to eat breakfast. 

His mother, Sally, and little sister, Angelica, were already downstairs, reading a letter that Dominic had obviously left for them before bolting out the door at the speed of light to catch his plane on time.

"Brain, your father has gone to see Aunt Mabel," Sally informed her son, without so much as a 'Good morning, darling,' "and I have to take Angelica to the doctor." She added, looking at her daughter.

Brian followed her gaze. Angelica did indeed look a little under the weather. In fact, she'd gone a rather eye-catching shade of green. Brian had to distribute great self-control to not burst out laughing. His sister glared at him. Brian glared back at her. 

Sally didn't notice the glaring competition going on between her offspring, and continued with what she was saying. "I will have to take Angelica to the doctor, and your father is out of town. I'm afraid that means you may have to get a lift from one of your friends. Or otherwise walk." 

Brian grinned brightly, unable to stop himself. "That's okay, Mum," he told her. "I don't mind. Besides, we want Jelly to get better, don't we?" he asked them both, smiling pleasantly at his sister, who smiled back, forgetting their previous staring competition in a flash. "I'll just call Jeff. He'll give me a lift."

"Alright then, Brian, dear, call Jeff, and get to school ASAP. We don't want you winding up with another detention, now do we?" sally snapped. 

Brian grinned again. "Nope." He responded airily.

And that was how Brian ended up sitting contently in the back seat of his friend Jeffery Ferguson's car, listening as Jeff and his mother, Anne, talked about last night's re-run of _Charlie's Angels_. 

"I'm telling you, Mum," Jeff told Anne. "One moment Farrah Fawcett's t-shirt was red, and in the next shot it was burgundy!"

"But Jeff," his mother countered. "How do you now the change of colour wasn't just caused by a change in the lighting?" 

"And that's another thing!" Jeff responded. "The sky was bright and sunny in one shot, but in the previous shot, it had been grey and stormy!" 

Brian smiled. _If only I could have such normal, relaxed conversations with my mother. _he thought to himself. All his mother and father did was nag him about his grades. They hadn't found out about the elephant lamp yet, but when they did, Brian was sure that there would be hell to pay. 

But for now, they didn't know, and Brian felt better for it. The very reason why he was being driven to school this morning by his friend's mother was enough to make him feel better: his father was out of town visiting his sick, elderly aunt, and his mother had taken Brian's sister, Angelica, to the doctor for an early appointment. 

Brian's thoughts drifted to Saturday detention, where they had been focused all weekend. Allison, Andy, Claire and John…Brian considered these people his friends now. But were they really his friends? Would today be like Claire had said on Saturday: no different to before? But I Claire had really believed that, why had she been so nice to them all? Why had she given Allison that makeover? Why had Claire, Princess of Shermer High, entrusted him, Brian Johnson, with that all-important essay? And why had she kissed John if she didn't believe they would remain friends?

_Because maybe she hopes we all remain friends, as well. _Brian mused. 

Would they remain friends? Shit, would they even _acknowledge_ each other? Brian didn't know. He just hoped that they all _did_ remain friends. He liked these people. They were all a lot deeper than he had first thought. A lot stronger, too. 

But were they strong enough to stand up to their own respective cliques and remain friends with the others that they had shared detention with, or would they be weak and dismiss them? 

"Have fun at school, boys." Anne's voice cut into Brian's thoughts. 

Brian looked up and smiled. "Thank you for driving me to school, Anne." Brian said. 

Anne grinned at him. "Anytime, sweetie."

Brian and Jeff got out of the car, and walked to the library, so that Jeff could return a few books. 

While Brian waited for Jeff to pull his library books out of the car, he looked over his shoulder and-

His heart caught in his throat. 

"John! John!" Claire running over towards John, who was storming across the car park, looking severely disgruntled, his black trench coat flying out behind him. He had his longish hair pulled halfway across his face, and he had his arms folded across his chest. Claire reached out and touched John gently on the arm, and John looked up startled. Brian squinted, trying to make out what they were saying; but he couldn't make it out. They were too far away, and well out of earshot. He watched, mouth open in shock, as Claire gently grabbed John by the shoulders and steered him elsewhere. Brian stood on his toes, trying to see where they were going when-

"Here, carry some of these, will you?" Jeff asked, grinning, and giving Brian a whole bunch of books to carry. He then noticed that Brian hadn't yet looked in his direction. "What're you looking at?" Jeff asked. Then, he frowned. "Hey, isn't that Claire Standish with John Bender?" he asked Brian.

"Um, yeah…" Brian trailed off. _She went to him, not the other way around._ Brian thought. _She confronted him about something, and she is taking him somewhere…probably somewhere private where they'll be able to talk. She went to him, not the other way around… _

"Um, Brian?" Jeff's voice disrupted Brian's train of thought. 

Brian looked at Jeff for a moment. "Sorry, I was distracted." He replied.

Jeff raised an eyebrow. "Distracted by John Bender and Claire Standish?" he asked dubiously. 

Brian had to laugh at that. _Oh, if only you knew, Jeff. If only you knew what this **means**…or **could** mean…_Brian thought as a puzzled expression crossed Jeff's face. _Claire went to John, not the other way around. That means that Claire still wants to be friends with all of us! Well, with **John**, at least…_"Yeah, something like that." Brian replied cryptically. 

Jeff frowned, and then suddenly grinned. "Come on slowpoke!" Jeff yelled playfully. "I've seen frozen blood cells that move faster than you!"

Brian laughed and followed his friend.

Yes, hopeful was a good feeling…

And now it had true foundations.


	6. The Princess and the Rebel

_For all other author's notes and the disclaimer see Chapter One. Please read them before reading the fic. Thanks. Send feedback to nova_mist@yahoo.com Please read and review._****

**========================**

**The Altered View Monday Can Bring**

**========================**

**March 26th, 1984**

=================================****

# Chapter Six – The Princess and the Rebel

=================================

"John! John!" Claire yelled, ignoring the strange looks she was getting from the group of ninth-graders John had pushed his way through only moments before. She reached out and touched him gently on the arm, and John looked up startled.Claire was shocked when she saw tears brimming in his dark eyes. 

"What do you want, Queenie?" he sneered at her nastily, but Claire didn't fail to notice the shake in his voice. Taking no notice of his snide remark, Claire gently held John by the shoulders and steered him around the side of the school and behind the large oak tree, out of sight and earshot from everyone else. 

John was too shocked to retaliate. Once Claire had steered him to their destination however, John had managed to put up enough of his tough-guy façade to be ready to send another, far more cutting remark Claire's way, when Claire reached out and gently lifted his dark hair away from the right side of his face, revealing the nasty bruise there, which he knew was beginning to swell. 

"Oh, John…" she murmured. "What happened?" 

One part of John wanted to pull away from Claire, to tell her to fuck off and to mind her own fucking business. But the other part wanted nothing more than to just break down and cry like a child and tell her everything that happened - that had ever happened - between himself and his father. 

Claire looked up at John, locking her eyes with his. He was looking back at her, a million different expressions passing across his face in a matter of seconds. 

"John, you can talk to me. I'm your friend. Please, John, tell me what's wrong." She whispered. 

"I fell." He snapped.

Claire raised her eyebrows disbelievingly. "You fell." She repeated.

John narrowed his eyes and glared at her. "Yes," he replied. "I fell."

"Into somebody's fists, by the look of it!" Claire retorted. 

John glared at her, hazel eyes blazing. "Get it in to your pretty head, Princess," he sneered. "I. Fell. Over." He snapped. "And because of my own clumsiness, I got a nasty bruise on my face for it." John continued, crossing his arms over his chest, casing the sleeves of his leather jacket and the long-sleeved t-shirt beneath it to slide up his arms, revealing the bruises and cuts that he was desperately trying to hide. 

Before she knew what she was doing, Claire had leaned forward and gently pulled his right arm towards her, and pulled John's sleeve up to his elbow. There Claire saw the cigar burn that John had revealed to Andrew on Saturday, but she had only seen it from a distance; up close it was shocking, far worse than it had looked at first. But what horrified her was all the bruises and cuts on his arm and hand that hadn't been there on Saturday.

John angrily snatched his arm back, and hastily pulled his sleeve back down, but not before Claire had seen the five bruises on John's arm that could quite easily have been caused by five fingers and a thumb pressing in too hard...

"John…" Claire trailed off, shocked.

John was looking anywhere but at Claire. "What?" he snapped. 

"John…what happened?" she asked.

John was silent.

Claire gently pulled his right hand into her own. "John, what really happened." Claire asked softly, once again pulling the sleeve up. "Falling over once couldn't possible have given you all these cuts and bruises."Claire continued, tracing her fingers gently over the injuries. Who had done this to him? His father?

"I fall over a lot." John drawled. "As I am constantly reminded by my father, I am a clumsy, disrespectful, ugly-"

"I don't think you're ugly." Claire cut in. 

John's head snapped up, his mouth hanging open. Then he glared at her again. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" he snapped. 

Claire smiled brightly. "I think you're very attractive." She informed him, pleasantly surprised with her statement. She had _never_ thought that she would ever say _that_ aloud, and she was proud of herself. 

"Wh…what?!" John spluttered. 

Claire smirked at him. "I think you're very attractive." She repeated, savouring the words. "and, from what I saw on Saturday, as well as in the past on other occasions, you are a long way from clumsy." She continued, remembering how John had jumped off the table up to the second-floor balcony in the school library on Saturday without slipping once. And how he had climbed up the statue, and how he had-

"Well, what about disrespectful?" John asked Claire softly. "Am I disrespectful?" he asked, eyebrows raised. 

Claire grinned at him. "Only to those who deserve it."

John smiled. Then he looked more troubled than ever, and looked back at the ground.

Claire frowned. "You don't really believe all that shit that your father says, do you?" she whispered. 

John looked at her seriously; his dark eyes alight with an emotion she couldn't read. Then he sighed heavily. "I don't know what to believe." He admitted. 

Claire was about to reply when-

BRRRRRIIIIINNNNNG!

"Aww, fuckin' hell!" John muttered, as the bell that told students that first period would begin in ten minutes blasted through the school grounds. He looked particularly troubled about something, although about what, Claire couldn't figure out. "I've got better things to do than go to fucking World History." John muttered, referring to first period. 

Fearing that John might do something stupid if he skipped first period, Claire clasped onto John's left arm and gently pulled him back around to the front of the school, up the stairs and into the hallway. 

John was looking at her disbelievingly. "What are you doing? Everyone can see us!" he hissed at Claire. 

Claire turned to John, and seized both of his hands in her own, intertwining their fingers, to stop him from slipping away. "The teachers and etcetera have a staff meeting between first and second period, remember? We get twenty minutes off. But to get to those twenty minutes, we first have to go to first period. So we're going to first period, World History, which we happen to have together." She hissed back. "And you know how-"

"Umm, Claire? What are you doing?" 

Claire and John both whipped around to see Hannah Newnham and Geena Smith, two of Claire's friends, walking towards them, looking at them suspiciously. Victoria Sanderson, a wannabe who was always trying to weasel her way into Claire's clique, hovered behind Geena and Hannah. 

"Excuse me?" Claire asked, annoyed at being interrupted. But also a little scared. _Can I stand up to these people – particularly in front of everyone currently assembled in the main hallway of Shermer High School? Do I have the strength? Or am I just a chicken-shit? A shallow bitch?_

Claire looked at John, who was looking at her disbelievingly. "What the hell are you doing?" he whispered snappily. 

She smiled serenely. "I know what I'm doing. I'm not a shallow airhead, John. I can stand up for myself." 

John glared at her. "Prove it!" he hissed, doubting that she would do it. 

_She'll cave in, I know she will!_ John told himself. _So why am I hoping that she doesn't? Why am I still standing here at her side? Why am I hoping and wishing and praying that I matter enough to her for her to stand up against her rich-bitch friends and actually be my friend? _

Geena was getting more and more annoyed by the fact that with all the noise in the hallway, and from their lowered voices, she couldn't hear what was being said by the two in front of her. Her eyes were fixed on John and Claire, and then flicked to their entwined hands. Then her eyes swept back up to meet Claire's. "What's going on? Is he giving you trouble?" she asked, giving John a dirty look. John glared at her sharply, and Geena quickly returned her gaze to Claire. 

"What do you mean, is he giving me trouble?" she asked after a moment.

Geena and Hannah glared at Victoria, who was standing there, looking confused. "Let us deal with this. Go to first period and I'll meet you there." Hannah snapped at Victoria. Victoria nodded and quickly left, as if afraid they would never speak to her again if she didn't do as she was told. Geena raised her eyebrows, and looked back at Claire and John. "He's holding onto your hands, and you two are standing awfully close. It looks as if you are having an argument about something. In other words, it looks like he's giving you trouble." Geena concluded.

"Did you come up with that all by yourself?" John sneered at Geena. 

"What is _that_ supposed to mean?" Geena snapped. 

Claire couldn't help it. John's smart-arse comment, added with Geena's befuddled expression, she just started laughing. Both John and Geena looked at her like she was insane. She tried to control herself. "He isn't giving me trouble." Claire replied to Geena's query after she had calmed down. 

Hannah grit her teeth. "Come on, Claire. Cut the shit. If he isn't giving you trouble, what the hell are you doing with him?" 

Claire raised her eyebrows. "Him? You mean John?" she asked calmly. 

Geena's eyes again shifted to John, glaring at him. He glared back. 

Geena looked away first, looking at Claire instead.

"John and I are going to first period together. We're in the same World History class, you see." Claire continued. 

Hannah's eyes flicked to John again, who was looking sat Claire, his expression unreadable. After a moment, his dark eyes moved to Hannah, who quickly looked back at Claire to avoid another staring contest. 

John smirked. _Chicken-shit bitch._ he thought. _They're both chicken-shits. _

"Are you going to sit with him?" Geena snapped at Claire. 

Claire shifted her gaze to John, uncertain. "If he wants me to sit with him, I will."

John looked Claire right in the eyes, smirking. "Your choice, Queenie." He replied, expecting for her to finally fall through and blow him off. 

Claire smiled again, looking back at Geena and Hannah, who eyes were narrowed and flicking rapidly from Claire to John, observing the whole exchange with pure malice. _What the hell does Claire think she's doing with this guy, anyway? Claire's the type of girl who should be going out with Andrew Clark, or one of the other super-jocks._ Geena observed._ Not hanging around with one of the school bad-asses. And the way that they're looking at each other, there's definitely something serious going down here. It's almost as if they _like_ each other! _

"Then I guess that means I'll be sitting with him in World History." Claire told Geena, snapping her out of her thoughts. "Come on, John, we'll be late!" Claire dragged John away down the hall to World History. 

"Oh, that would be a tragedy straight out of Shakespeare." John drawled, letting himself be dragged away. _Maybe today won't be so bad after all…_ he mused. 


	7. The Athlete and The BasketCase

_For all other author's notes and the disclaimer see Chapter One. Please read them before reading the fic. Thanks. Send feedback to nova_mist@yahoo.com Please read and review._****

**========================**

**The Altered View Monday Can Bring**

**========================**

**March 26th, 1984**

=========================================

# Chapter Seven – The Basket-Case and The Athlete

=========================================

As Andy pulled his books out his locker, he noticed that Allison was standing very self-consciously, aware of all the looks they were getting. To his right, Andy could see Victoria Sanderson standing on the other side of the hall, trying to engage in a conversation with Hannah Newnham. One of the biggest bitches in the school, Victoria was always trying to weasel her way into Hannah's group: The Princesses. 

Andy frowned; wondering about what Claire was doing right now. 

"Who's that?" Hannah snapped at Victoria, cutting Victoria off in mid-sentence. 

"Who?" Victoria responded quickly, excited that Hannah was asking her a question. 

"The girl with Andy Clark." Hannah replied snappily. 

"I dunno." Hannah admitted. "She looks familiar, though." She added, squinting slightly at Allison. 

"Yeah, you're right." Hannah said. 

"That's Allison Reynolds." Geena Smith butted in, opening her locker. Geena had walked up behind the other two girls, and was currently reapplying her lipstick using the mirror she had inside her locker door. 

"The quiet girl who' s always wearing black?" Hannah asked Geena. 

"But she's wearing normal clothes today." Hannah interjected, trying to be helpful. "A blue zip-up jumper-jacket, leather gloves, a long skirt an-"

"Who cares?" Hannah snapped, cutting Victoria off. "I just wanna know what the hell she and Andy Clark are doing together!" 

Andy rolled his eyes and looked to Allison. "Just ignore them." he whispered to Allison. "They aren't worth worrying about." 

Allison looked at him indignantly. "I'm not worrying." She said quickly, looking away from then group of girls. "They're just a bunch of bitches, right?" she asked Andy, looking him right in the eyes. 

Andy smiled at her. "Right." He replied. "Come on," he said, gently tugging on the sleeve of the blue jacket that Andy had given to her on Saturday. "Let's get out of here." 

Allison hesitated a moment, and then smiled and followed Andy down the hall. 

"So…" Andy said awkwardly. "How was your weekend?" he asked. _Oh, your questions are getting better by the second, Clark! _Andy snapped at himself. _You must be the King of Stupid Questions. _

Allison looked at him for a moment before answering. "Pretty boring." she acknowledged. "I spent Sunday thinking about Sunday, and perfecting the make-up techniques Claire showed me." she told him. "I'm not wearing eye-liner, though. I was reading a magazine over the weekend, and it said that using eye-liner all the time can give you a lot of wrinkles around the eyes."

Andy smiled at her. "And which magazine was it where you read that?"

Allison grinned and looked embarrassed. "_Vogue_." She admitted. 

Andy laughed, and Allison glared at him. Andy's mouth shut with a snap. Allison's glares, like John's, were very intimidating. "Read anything else in _Vouge_ that was of interest?" he asked her. 

"Well," Allison considered, revelling in the attention that Andy was giving her. "Apparently only 71% of women shave or wax their legs and/or underarms." She said matter-of-factly. 

Andy laughed. "Is that so?" he asked, as he opened the front doors of the school and began to walk down the steps. 

"According to _Vogue_." Allison replied. She looked at him very seriously. "And we all know how very reliable _Vogue_'s sources are."

Andy burst out laughing. "Yeah, right up there with _National Enquirer_." 

Allison laughed. "What did _you_ do over the weekend?" she asked Andy as they stepped back into the parking lot. 

Andy's eyes darkened. "Well, I spent Saturday night being yelled at by my father for getting a detention, and then got yelled at again when he remembered seeing you and I kissing." 

They both blushed scarlet at that comment. 

"Sorry I got you into trouble, Andy," Allison whispered, stopping in the middle of the car park. 

Andy stopped walking as well, and grasped Allison by the upper arms. "It' s nothing, believe me," he told her quietly. "Besides," he added, grinning. "it was well worth it."

Allison smiled coyly. "Really?"

"Yeah, really." Andy replied with a smile. 

"What did you do on Sunday, then?" Allison asked him. "Surely your father didn't yell at you _all_ weekend." 

"He would have if he could." Andy muttered darkly. 

Allison gave him a worried look. 

"But he couldn't, you see, because I had a wrestling meet on Sunday." Andy cut in before Allison could say anything. 

"But I thought your wrestling meet was next Saturday." Allison said. 

"Oh, it is. It's just that my father decided to also enter me in this particular one without telling me first. In fact, he didn't tell me I was going in the damn thing until it was about twelve hours before I was due to compete." Andy continued. "You see, my father seems to think that he can live my life for me. He has it all planned out." 

Allison grimaced. "Ouch," she said. "Well, how did you go at your meet?' she asked Andy.

"I won." Andy replied shortly.

BBBBRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNGGGGGGGG! BBBBRRRRRRIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNGGGGGG!

"Aw, fuck." Andy complained as the bell rang. "I hate that stupid bell! It always reminds me that I only have five minuted of freedom left before first period."

"What do you have first?" Allison asked him. 

Andrew paused for a moment, trying to remember. Then, he groaned loudly. "Aw, _shit_! I have PE!" he moaned. "With Coach Sheldon!" he added. _Wow, today is just getting worse by the second! _Andrew thought to himself. 

Allison looked at him sideways. "I though you were Coach Sheldon's Golden Boy." Allison said, smirking slightly. 

Andy rolled his eyes. "That's only when I win." he told her, stopping again.

Allison stopped as well, and stood facing him. "But I thought you _did_ win on Sunday." Allison said, confused. 

Andy smiled at her. "Yes, but you see, apparently my attitude is worth shit. Unless I 'get down and focus' I could 'blow me whole ride'." Andy said, mocking his father's voice. "I just don't get it, you know? I mean, why me? Why couldn't I just be someone else? What did I do to deserve this?" he sounded self-pitying. 

Allison squeaked in slight annoyance. It was a good situation compared to a lot of other peoples'. "Nasty." she observed. "But, look at it this way," she pointed out. "it could be worse…"

"Worse?" Andy shrieked. "How could it be _worse_?" 

_He is so self-absorbed! _Allison thought angrily. She looked at Andy, angry as well as annoyed. "You think you have it tough? Try having your parents ignore you all the time like mine do!"

"Ignore you?!" Andy yelled. "I wish to God that my parents would ignore me!" 

Allison's dark eyes flared angrily. "Oh, so I don't have problems?" she spat at him. "Or, if you do happen to acknowledge that fact that I do, they aren't as _big_ or as _important_ as yours?!" she yelled. "Well, you could have a father like a certain someone we know has!" she snapped at him. "That would mean not just having your father yell at you and nag you, but make you feel like shit! And beat the shit out of you in a drunken rage! Or…" she leaned in closer to him, and lowered her voice to a whisper. "you could have him burn you on the arm with a cigar for spilling paint in the garage!" she hissed. "Are you really that caught up in your own problems that you can't see anyone else's?" she asked him, and turned on her heel and quickly walked away. 

Andy stood there in shock, mouth gaping open. _She's right, you know! _He snapped at himself. _You really are so caught up in your own problems that you can't see what everyone else is going through is just as bad, and a lot of people have it a hell of a lot worse. _"Allison!" Andy yelled, running after her, ignoring the strange looks he was getting from everyone who was watching. Allison had stormed over to the oak tree on the other side of the parking lot, away from everyone else. "Allison! Wait!" Andy cried, running over to her. 

Allison spun around. "Keep. Away. From. Me!" she yelled at him. "Try looking at reality, Andy! Other people have problems as well as you! You noticed that fact that I have problems on Saturday, didn't you?" she asked him. Then, she scowled. "Or was that nothing but an act?"

"No, Allison, I-" Andy protested.

"Well, if you saw them then, why can't you see them now?!" she snapped. "Everyone here has problems, no matter how petty or insignificant they may seem!" 

"Allison, I-"

"Goodbye, Andrew!" she snarled, and stormed off. 

Andy glared at her retreating back for a moment, before angrily kicking the tree-trunk. "FUCK!" he yelled, before turning and running back over to the school doors. _Damn, I know I'd fuck this up somehow. But the problem is…how in God's name do I fix it? ___


	8. Symmetry and Geometry

**Author's Note:** okay, you know how I told you I had this story meticulously planned up to chapter seventeen? Well, I did have it planned, and then the chapters decided to take on a mind of their own, and leave the plan completely. Well, okay, not completely, but pretty close to completely. Which is the reason why I don't normally do story plans. Chapter Seven is a prime example of chapters that take on a life of their own. I'm also writing some of these chapters out of order, which is unusual for me. for example, I wrote chapter nine before I wrote chapters three, four, five, seven and eight, and chapter six before chapter nine. Oh well. Enjoy! And please review!

_For all other author's notes and the disclaimer see Chapter One. Please read them before reading the fic. Thanks. Send feedback to nova_mist@yahoo.com Please read and review._****

**========================**

**The Altered View Monday Can Bring**

**========================**

**March 26th, 1984**

==================================

# Chapter Eight – Symmetry and Geometry 

==================================

Allison bolted down the hallways to maths like the Hounds of Hades were after her. _Prick! The fucking prick! _she fumed. _How dare he think that he is the only person on the planet with problems! Like _I_ don't have problems! I should have known he'd do this! Andrew Clark: Super Jock. Jesus Christ, Ally! _she snarled at herself. _You should have known better! You know he can't think for himself, so of course he's frigging self-absorbed!_

Allison stormed into the classroom, all the way up to the back. She flung her bag down on the seat next to her in the two-seater desk, and glared at anyone who looked her way. 

_Maybe you were a little hard on him._ A small voice in the back of Allison's mind suddenly piped up. 

Allison snorted. 

_He can't help it if he's self-absorbed occasionally. _Allison considered, fingering Andy's blue sweatshirt._ He is State Wrestling Champion, after all. _she thought with a smirk. _You just have to help him. All he needs is a friend. An actual friend. Someone to talk to. _She mused. She sighed heavily. _He tried to apologise, but you cut him off. He meant it. _

Allison glared angrily at the wall. _Fine, I'll talk to him in English. We have that together. It's next period, too. Shit._

"I can't believe I'm talking to myself!" Allison whispered angrily. 

"It's the first sign of madness." 

Allison's head snapped up in surprise to see Brian Johnson standing nervously in front of her. 

"Um, can I sit here?" Brian asked timidly. 

"Uh, sure." Allison said, smiling. She moved her bag off the chair and onto the desk in front of her. 

Brian smiled back, and sat down in the newly vacated chair. "So, uh, how was your weekend, Allison?" Brian asked after a moment's hesitation. "Any improvements with your parents?"

Allison smiled slightly. "Actually, yeah." She told him. 

"What happened?" he asked.

"Well, I managed to get my father to speak to me this morning." Allison told him.

"Really? How?" 

"Well, just before I got out of the car, I said 'Thanks for driving me to school, Daddy.' and he said 'That's alright, have fun at school, sweetheart.'" Allison explained. "He looked really surprised that I was speaking to him at all." She added quietly. 

Brian smiled at her. "Well done." He congratulated her. 

"Thank you." Allison replied, smiling. Then, her smile fell. "Shit! Brian, did we have any homework?" she asked him.

Brian shook his head. "Uh-uh. We had a sub lat time, remember?" 

Allison sighed in relief. "Yeah, yeah. I remember now."

"Allison, is there something wrong?" Brian asked her hesitantly. "You look like you're a million miles away."

Allison smiled at him. "Yeah, sorry, my thoughts _are_ elsewhere." she apologised. 

He tilted his head to one side. "Penny for your thoughts?" Then Brian smiled wickedly. "They wouldn't happen to be focused on one Andrew Clark, would they?" he asked her in whisper. 

Allison's eyes widened. "Is it that obvious?" she asked him after a moment.

Brain chuckled. "Only slightly." he replied. "So, what's up?" he asked her. "You look a little troubled. Did he do something wrong already?"

Allison looked at him, shocked. "How did you know?"

Brian smiled thinly. "You look hurt."

Allison smiled bitterly. "We had a…misunderstanding…this morning." She admitted, surprised at herself for opening up that easily. But Brian was her friend. He had proved that on Saturday. They all had. 

"A misunderstanding?" Brian repeated.

"Uh-huh." Allison confirmed. "It's my fault, really. Andy was being self-absorbed again, thinking that he is the person on the planet with problems, and it just really made me angry." 

Brian nodded, understanding. "Well, what type of problems?" he asked slowly. "Insignificant ones that he only thinks are problems, or actual problems?" 

"Oh, they are real problems, alright." Allison replied. "Problems with his father. Andy thinks that his father is controlling his life, and he doesn't appreciate being nagged and yelled at all the time. He was acting like it was the biggest problem someone would ever have to face." Allison continued. 

Brian raised his eyebrows. "Typical." He said before he could stop himself.

Allison nodded in agreement. "I told him that he should be grateful that his father doesn't beat him, like the father of someone else we know does." 

Brian was confused. "Someone else we kn…oh!" It finally occurred to him. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "John?" he asked her.

Allison nodded. "Of course, I don't think it occurred to Prince Andy who I was talking about until I mentioned the cigar burn." She added in a whisper. Then she sighed heavily. "But, you know, I think I was a little hard on him." She told Brian. "I mean, you know, we can all be a little self-absorbed sometimes. I really think that maybe he is just having a bad day. I'm going to speak to him next period about it." 

Brian nodded. "Yeah, good idea." Brian assured her. He hesitated. "Maybe you should jus-"

"Everyone get out your books, and open them to page 248." 

There was a stifled groan from all twenty-three students in the classroom. Paul Simpson, maths teacher from Hell, had just entered the room. 

Mr Simpson's eyes scanned the room. "Right, attendance time." He snapped. "Belinda Ashton?"

"Present, sir." 

"Derek Campbell?"

"Yep."

"Oh, Mr Campbell, where exactly is you homework from two weeks ago?" Mr Simpson snapped. "That was a make-up paper of a makeup paper! It was supposed to have been handed to me by Thurs-"

Allison rolled her eyes. This was going to take a while. Mr Simpson always berated at least twelve people during roll call, and today was going to be no exception. 

To fill in the time, Allison watched, fascinated, as Brian changed the batteries in his scientific calculator. "That looks expensive." She whispered to him.

Brian grinned at her. "It is, for a calculator. Cutting edge technology, here. My Great Aunt Maude gave me the money for it." He told Allison. 

"Jody Hodder?" 

"Yes."

"Brian Johnson?"

"Here, sir."

Allison started doodling on the cover of her maths book, which was already half-covered with other such drawings. 

"Nice drawings." Brian told her. "Very cubist-like." 

Allison blushed. "Thanks," she replied. 

"Allison Reynolds?" Mr Simpson snapped. 

"Here, sir." Allison replied. "My God, that man is grumpy." Allison muttered to Brian. 

"Oh, tell me about it!" Brian agreed. "He yelled at me once for not having my pencil sharp enough." He told her, rolling his eyes. 

Allison stifled a giggle. "So, Brian, how was your weekend?" she asked him, averting her attention from watching Mr Simpson yell at Mike Williams for not having his calculator. 

Brian smiled slowly. "Well, it didn't get good until last night. Well, actually, it was at 3AM this morning, actually." He told her. "My Great Aunt Maude-"

"The one who gave you the money for your calculator?" Allison cut in. 

Brian nodded. "The same." He confirmed, pleasantly surprised that she had remembered. "Anyway, she's sick. Not on her death bed by any means, but ill just the same. Anyway, my father is her favourite nephew, and she's been asking for him. So my Aunt Marge rings up at 3AM and tells Dad that his flight leaves in two hours." Brian explained. "So that gets Dad out of the picture for a week at least. And then, my little sister Gwen, has to be taken to the doctor by my mother really early in the morning, so my friend Jeff Ferguson and his mother, Ann, drove me to school. So I have had an exceptionally good morning." 

Allison smiled widely. "Wow, sounds like you've had a really good time of it." 

Brian chuckled. "You bet I have." He told her. 

"Asher Zhang?" Mr Simpson barked. 

"Yes, sir. Here, sir." Asher responded. 

"Right." Mr Simpson snapped. "There are four people away. Do you all have your books open to page 238?"

"Uh, excuse me, sir. You said page 248, not 238." Brian pointed out. 

Mr Simpson glared at Brian. "Well, thank God you're here, Johnson." He said snidely. "Otherwise I fear I might not be able to teach." 

Sniggers broke out around them room. 

"What are you all laughing at?" Mr Simpson snapped. 

The laughter died down. "Good call, Johnson." Asher Zhang, who was sitting in front of Allison and Brian, congratulated Brian. 

"Thanks." Brian replied. 

"You two down the back! Knock it off!" Mr Simpson bellowed. "Page 248, now!" he ordered. 

Allison opened her maths textbook to the page instructed. Then, she groaned. "Oh, not this damn 'applied symmetry in advanced geometry and trigonometry' stuff again!" she complained. "It's complicated!"

Brian smiled slightly. "Would you like me to help you with it if you have any problems?" he offered. 

Allison just looked at him. For a terrible moment, Brian thought that he might have offended her. He opened his mouth to apologise, when suddenly, she smiled at him. "I'd like that very much. Thank you." She responded, very grateful. 

Brian smiled. "Happy to be of help." He responded. 


	9. Whispers of a Vicious Nature Begin

**Author's Note:** yes, I have noticed that the chapters about Claire and John are the longest. But Andy and Brian piss me off. :P Allison is cool, though! This chapter was originally twice as long, but I cut it in half, which explains the rather abrupt ending to this chapter. Anyway, I'm listening to _The Breakfast Club Soundtrack_ while writing this, which should help! ^_^

**Warning:** some sappiness ahead! But not all that much! ~_^ And sorry if this drags a bit. But please, bear with me. 

_For all other author's notes and the disclaimer see Chapter One. Please read them before reading the fic. Thanks. Send feedback to nova_mist@yahoo.com Please read and review._****

**========================**

**The Altered View Monday Can Bring**

**========================**

**March 26th, 1984**

========================================

# Chapter Nine – Whispers of a Vicious Nature Begin

========================================

Claire pulled John into their World History class by the arm, careful to avoid the areas where she knew there were injuries. She dragged him all the way to the second row from the back, and sat down at the two-seater desk next to the wall, pulling John down into the seat next to her. 

John followed her the whole way with no resistance. He was too busy trying not to move his head. One of his habits was moving his head every so often to flick his hair out of his eyes. But if that happened, he'd be dead, because the bruise – which was beginning to throb again – would be revealed. 

As Claire pulled John along behind her, John felt the eyes of everyone in the room on them. 

Then the whispers started up… 

"Is that John Bender being pulled into the room by Claire Standish?" 

"What the hell are they doing with each other?" 

"Are they going out or something?" 

"But I thought that Claire was going out with Ben Lopez!" 

"No, it's Hannah Newnham that's going out with Ben."

"But I thought that Hannah was going out with Tom Lester."

"The college guy?!"

"No, Hannah was going out with Tom _last _week."

"Isn't Tom Lester a Varsity football champion, or something?" 

"But still, why are John Bender and Claire Standish sitting next to each other?"

"What do you mean sitting next to each other?"

"Well, look for yourself." 

Twenty pairs of eyes looked in Claire and John's direction. Next to him, Claire was rummaging around in her bag for something, and didn't notice. John looked into her bag as well, trying to look like he was busy and had not noticed the fact that everyone in the room was focused on his every movement. But he could still feel their eyes on him… 

And the idiots just wouldn't shut up!

"Maybe they've always been an item and we just never knew."

"You mean like a secret affair?" 

"Ah-hah!" Claire said suddenly, causing John to jump slightly, startled. He had been focusing on the whispers that were floating around the classroom like a locust swarm. She pulled something out of her bag triumphantly, and pulled it under the desk. "John, look at this!" she whispered. 

John looked down at what she was holding. "What's that?" he asked her softly. 

Claire smiled. "It's an anti-inflammatory lotion that I got free from the department store last week when they were giving out samples." She explained. 

John blinked. "Huh?" 

Claire rolled her eyes good-naturedly at John. Then she finally noticed the fact that everyone in the room (now twenty-three other people) was watching her and John's conversation with great interest. "It's an anti-inflammatory cream," she continued in a voice so low that John had to lean in closer to hear her. "But it also takes swelling down." 

John frowned slightly, and leaned in even closer to Claire so there was absolutely no chance of being overheard. "You mean…like the swelling…" he drifted off. "We could use that on my bruise? And the swelling would go down?" John asked. 

Claire smiled kindly. "It should. It will reduce it, at least." She replied just as softly as John had spoken. "And we could put some sort of concealer over it, so that it wouldn't matter if your hair blows back."

"Concealer?" John smirked. "You mean, that foundation crap some girls put on their faces?" 

Claire smirked back, and nodded. 

"But you don't _wear_ concealer." John told her, surprising her.

She looked at him, her eyes wide. "How did you know that?" she asked, smiling.

John smirked. "I'm not blind, Claire." He informed her. "Besides, your skin tone is just too _natural _to have concealer smeared all over it." 

Claire grinned. "You're right. I don't wear concealer. But I still have some in my bag. In all the different shades available in this year's new range. There'll be one in there that matches your skin tone perfectly, believe me," she informed him. "And we'll apply it in just the right way so that it looks as if you're not wearing any."

"All the different shades? More free samples?" John asked. 

"No, my aunt gave it to me." Claire replied. "So, do you want me to cover the bruise with concealer or not?" 

John looked at her, surprised. "You weren't joking?" he asked, surprised enough for his voice to rise so much that everyone could hear it…but not hear it accurately. It seems everyone heard "were" instead of "weren't". 

The whispers started up again.

"Joking?" someone asked. "Joking about what?"

Claire frowned. "Joking?" she asked, confused. She was speaking a little louder, too. _Why does he think I'm joking?_ She asked herself. "Why would I be joking?" 

John leaned in again, and lowered his voice back to a whisper. "You'd do that for me?" he asked Claire. "You'd bother with the cream and finding the concealer that 'matches my skin tone' and 'apply it in just the right way', to 'make it look as if I'm not wearing any'?" John asked. "For me?"

_Whoa, does this boy have some severe self-esteem problems! _Claire thought to herself, forcing herself not to raise her eyebrows. "Yes, John. For you." Claire smiled warmly, and was relieved when John smiled back.

"Maybe her sitting next to him is all a practical joke." Someone whispered. 

John's smile faded instantly. He didn't know why, but once he heard that, his blood froze in his veins. _Is that what she's doing? _He asked himself. _What if this is all just a dare by one of her rich-bitch friends? Or, like the dickwit said, a practical joke…_

Claire heard the whisper, too, and glared angrily at Victoria Sanderson, the girl who had made the comment. Victoria smirked at her, knowing that she'd just upset Princess Claire's little fantasy world. 

_They're whispering about you, Claire. They're gossiping about you. _Claire reminded herself._ This could tarnish your image! Maybe so badly that wouldn't be able to recover it! If that happened, you'd be forever seen as the Princess Who Fell From Grace with a lowlife form the wrong side of the tracks! You'd nev- NO! Stop it! _She snapped at herself, angry with herself for thinking like that._ I'm not like that! _She looked again at John, who was looking at her strangely. _Not anymore. I'm NOT conceited! John is my FRIEND, and it doesn't matter if he is the poorest person in the school, I refuse to judge him on that and that alone._

Claire leaned right in close to John, and, out of the corner of her eye, saw Victoria's eyes widen in shock. "That's all bullshit, John, and you know it."Claire hissed in John's ear. "I would never do that to you! Remember what you told me on Saturday? How shitty a thing that is to do to a person? Remember?" 

"I remember." John whispered, relieved. _Well, maybe she isn't so conceited after all…_

"So do I, John." Claire continued. "I'll always remember that."

John looked at her silently for a long moment. They were both aware of the whispers that were now flying around the room at the speed of light- 

"Did you see that? She leaned in to his ear! She's whispering something to him!"

"I wish I could see his facial expression! But his hair is blocking the view!"

-but none of it mattered. 

John wasn't used to anyone really caring about him. But Claire did, and it was such a strange, foreign concept to him. But it pleased him, none the less. 

He smiled at her, and she smiled back. Leaning forwards again, he whispered in her ear, "Gee Princess, I didn't know you cared."

"Of course I care." Claire responded. "I care because I'm your friend, John." She whispered.

John smiled bitterly. "Probably my only real friend in the entire world." John muttered quietly. He then immediately wanted to kick himself. _How could I have let that slip out?!_ John berated himself._ I have absolutely no emotional control around this girl! _He looked to Claire, hoping that maybe she hadn't heard him.

However, luck was not with John at that particular moment, for Claire had indeed heard. 

Claire frowned. "What do you me-"

"'Morning, everyone!" 

Claire was cut of in mid-sentence. She looked up, annoyed, to see that their World History teacher, Mrs. Jan Hammond, who was sixty-five, had more lipstick on her teeth than on her lips, half-deaf and getting more senile by the day, had finally arrived. _And only ten minutes late, too._ Claire thought to herself._ That's got to be a record._

John, seeing that Claire was distracted for a moment, took this time to shift in his seat so he was once again facing the front of the room. He entwined his hands on the desk in front of him, and looked at them, as if fascinated by them. 

Claire turned back to John, and frowned slightly when she saw that he had turned back to the front, and was now staring at his hands in front of him on the desk. His comment had bothered her. She could see that it was something that he hadn't meant to say aloud.His head was bowed, and his dark hair had fallen like a curtain, completely blocking the right side of his face from view. 

But Claire was sitting on his left, and could see John's facial expression – a mixture of contempt, distress and confusion – quite clearly. She moved her chair closer to his, and again leaned in close to him. "John, look at me." she whispered. 

John hesitated for a moment. Then, finally, moved his head to look at her, his dark eyes again sheered over with unshed tears. 

Claire frowned. "John, what's wrong?" she asked, deeply concerned. Claire could tell that it wasn't just because of the stupid comment Victoria Sanderson had made earlier. _That was just the straw that broke the camel's back._ She realised. _Something else has happened to him that has not had a good effect on him._

"Nothing's wrong, Claire." John said despondently. "I'm fine. Just fine. Fuckin' peachy."he continued, lowering his eyes. 

Claire looked at him sharply. "That's bullshit, John." she replied, trying desperately to keep her voice even. _Why won't he just tell me what's wrong with him?_ Claire thought angrily. "Obviously there's something wrong. Please, John, tell me what's wrong." She was pleading now. "Maybe I can help."

John looked up at her again. He smiled at her sadly. "No one can help me." he muttered. 

"And what the hell is that supposed to me-" 

"Miss. Standish and Mr. Bender, if you would be so kind as to finish your conversation during break, it would be most appreciated." Mrs. Hammond's plum-in-the-mouth accent cut Claire off in mid-sentence for the second time. Claire was becoming ever so slightly annoyed. But she was at least pleased to see that John had only turned his head towards the doddery teacher, and not his whole body. He was frowning at Mrs. Hammond in Claire could only say was some sort of strange confusion, as if he had completely forgotten that the teacher had entered the room. 

"That is, unless your conversation is so frightfully important that it can't wait." Mrs. Hammond added in a superior tone. Frankly, she was interested as to why these two were sitting together. She had never seen them together before, and why on earth a Princess and a Rebel would be sitting together in the first place was fascinating. Two people from such different groups sitting together in class – _very_ close together, and whispering in each other's ears – was something she hadn't seen in a very long time. _And it looks like the whole class is mesmerised as well. _Mrs. Hammond reflected. 

"Well, Mrs Hammond, it does look as if it's as important as a conversation can get." Victoria Sanderson interjected. "I mean, look at that, they're whispering in each other's ears. And Claire moved her chair right up next to John. And the way they're looking at each other! Just when Claire couldn't get any sluttier she-" 

"Shut **_UP_**, Sanderson!" John snapped suddenly, turning around to glare at her. "Who the _hell_ asked you, anyway?!" 

From behind John, Claire looked on, amazed. _He defended me. _Claire mused. _So, he cares about me, too. _

Victoria's eyes flashed triumphantly. "Oooh, look at that! John's _defending_ her! They must be together!"

John smiled very coldly. "Well, _Victoria_, it wasn't Claire here that was busted by Mr. Ryan for being caught in a rather _compromising_ position with Peter Mooney in the boys' locker room behind the shower wall…" he sneered.

Victoria's mouth fell open in shock, as did everyone else's. 

Mrs. Hammond raised her over-plucked eyebrows. _Obviously everyone here has forgotten that I'm in the room, _she thought with a smile, and looked back at Victoria. Victoria's face was burning bright red, and she was glaring at John with what could only be construed as pure hate. John was glaring right back at her.

"You _arsehole_!" Victoria shrieked at him. "How _dare_ you say that!"

Mrs. Hammond's eyes flicked to John and Claire. 

"Well, it's the truth, isn't it?" John sneered. Claire was leaning over from behind, a hand resting gently on John's shoulder. 

Victoria's jaw clenched. 

"You mean that shit going around about that _was_ true!" Scott Portman – a member of Brian's Geek-Gang - asked incredulously. 

John smirked, and leaned back slightly. His eyes flicked to Claire, who looked back at him. He turned around again to face the front, and out of habit, put his feet up on the desk, crossing them at the ankles. 

"Well, if you have all _quite_ finished." Mrs. Hammond interjected after it had been silent for a few moments. "Perhaps we could get on with the lesson?" She looked firstly at Victoria, who looked like she wanted to murder John and Claire. Then she shifted her gaze to John, who was looking intently at his boots. Finally she looked at Claire, who was looking at John, her eyes alight with tears. All three of them were unaware of the teacher's gaze.

"Right, time to call the roll." Mrs. Hammond told them. "Karla Adams?" she called. 

"Here,"

"Chris Awad?"

"Present, miss,"

"John Bender?" Mrs. Hammond asked, smirking ever so slightly when Claire nudged John to get him to pay attention.

"Oh, right. Yeah, I'm here," John replied absent-mindedly.

Mrs Hammond continued on, working her way down the thirty people listed. 

"Scott Portman?"

"Yes,"

"William Rogers?"

"Uh-huh,"

"Victoria Sanderson?" 

Silence. 

"Victoria Sanderson!" Mrs Hammond repeated sharply. 

Victoria was once again locked in a staring contest with Claire and John. "I'm here," she replied sharply, without turning her head around. 

"Patrick Sinclair?" 

"Yes, miss." 

"Claire Standish?" Mrs. Hammond continued. 

But Claire and Victoria had resumed their staring contest. Mrs Hammond saw John gently nudge Claire. 

"Present," Claire said after a moment. 

Mrs Hammond noticed that all the way through attendance, Claire and John glared at Victoria. Victoria glared right back at them. 

Mrs Hammond was getting annoyed. "Well, good, all of you are here, apart from Renford Li, who has a dentist appointment and will arrive later." 

The rest of the lesson went by without incident. John was exhausted. He had nearly fallen asleep on the desk during Mrs Hammond's boring, monotonous lecture on the war of 1812, vaguely aware of the fact that Claire was leaning her head on his shoulder. This morning – as well as the weekend he had just experienced – had taken it out of him. All he wanted to do was sleep. _I could probably go to the nurse, and get sent home. _John mused. But the last thing he wanted to do was go home. 

Everyone - Mrs Hammond included – was relieved when the forty-minute period ended. And even more relieved that, because of a staff meeting, they had the next twenty minutes off. 

Claire took John's hand, and started to drag him away. "Let's fix your bruise." Claire whispered. 

John nodded, and he let himself be led away. 


	10. I'll show you wrestling!

**Author's Note: ** thank you all for being patient. My mother is indeed on my side in this saturation with my father and I will very soon have an Internet connection! Touch wood. Anyway, thank you all so much for your wonderful reviews! I haven't actually seen them since Saturday night, when I posted the last lot of chapters, so I haven't seen any of the new reviews, but I appreciate all of them! Please keep them coming! Sorry that there are only three chapters this time (although chapter twelve _is_ 3961 words long!) but I have been busy with family outings and etc, and I have had a little bit of writers block. By the way, if my current writing binge keeps up, you're going to be in for one _long fic! _Enjoy! 

_For all other author's notes and the disclaimer see Chapter One. Please read them before reading the fic. Thanks. Send feedback to nova_mist@yahoo.com Please read and review._****

**========================**

**The Altered View Monday Can Bring**

**========================**

**March 26th, 1984**

=================================

Chapter Ten – "I'll show you _wrestling_!" 

=================================

Andy strolled into the gym, trying to look as if he were calm and collected, when he was anything but. He was still angry at himself over his fight with Allison. 

He got changed into his sports clothes on autopilot. For once in his life, the last thing Andy wanted to do was go to PE class. He shoved his normal clothes into his bag unceremoniously, not caring if his t-shirt got creased in the process. 

And just when he thought his irritation couldn't get any larger, his friends James Lopez and Ben Houghton strolled into the locker room, and straight over to Andy. 

"Oh, Jesus Christ." Andy muttered to himself. 

"Andy, dude, how was detention on Saturday?" James asked Andy loudly. 

Andy grit his teeth. "Fine." He said shortly, turning his attention back to tying the laces of his sneakers up.

James looked at him sideways. "That bad, hey?" he asked. 

Andy grunted in a way that said neither 'yes' nor 'no'.

Ben laughed loudly. "Shit, man, what's up with you? Whatever it is, you should really clear it up. You nearly flunked at your meet on Sunday." 

"Shut up!" Andy snapped, and James and Ben abruptly stopped laughing.  Andy picked up his water bottle and stormed past them into gymnasium proper. 

James and Ben looked at each other. "What the fuck is wrong with him?" Ben asked. 

James shrugged. "I dunno. Let's find out." 

"Well, it could have something to do with that chick he was arguing with in the car park this morning." 

James and Ben turned around to see their friend Mike Williams standing behind them, smoking a cigarette. 

"What chick?" Ben asked. 

Mike shrugged. "Dunno. I didn't really get a good look at her face. She _did_ look familiar, in a weird sort of way, but I couldn't place her. But she's got dark hair, about average height, pale skin. Pretty little thing. But a fiery temper." Mike took a deep draw of his cigarette. "Our boy Andy obviously said something wrong, and that really set her off." Mike laughed slightly. "She stormed off angrily, Andy yelling after her."

Ben and James exchanged glances. 

"Did Andy look angry?" James inquired. 

Mike smirked. "Yep. Angry as I've ever seen him. He looked like he was gonna go bust a fuckin' cap on someone." 

"Well, did he look pissed off _before_ he started arguing with this chick?" James asked.

Mike considered that for a moment. "Actually, thinking about it, yeah, he did." Mike flicked the cigarette onto the floor, and stubbed it out with his toe. "And he looked really worried after the girl stormed off. Like he was completely ticked with himself more than her." Mike shrugged, and looked back at his friends. "Weird shit. I ain't ever seen him that worried before. And he was yelling after her to try and get her to come back."

"Was he yelling her name?" Ben asked.

Mike looked at him. "Yeah, but do you really think I woulda been able to catch it over all the noise in the car park?" Mike snapped. "All I could hear was an 'Al' sound."

"An 'Al' sound?" James and Ben asked is unison.

"You know, like Alanna or Alexandra or Alyssa or Allison." 

"A girl with dark hair whose name starts with 'Al'." Ben summarised. "That's what we have on this mystery chick."

"Yeah, all we have, I'm afraid." Mike clarified. 

"Wait, do you mean Allison Reynolds?" James interjected.

"Allison Reynolds?" Ben snapped. "Who the fuck is Allison Reynolds?"

"The name sounds familiar…who is she?" Mike asked. 

"Yeah, you know, the weird girl who sulks around wearing black and everything. She's always in seeing Hasimoto, the school counsellor." James replied. 

"Oh, yeah!" Mike agreed. "It _was _her, thinking about it!" Then he frowned. "But she was wearing a long denim skirt and a pink jumper. Not all in black." 

"Oh, who cares what she's wearing?" Ben cut in. "Maybe she gave herself a makeover? Our problem is Andy, not Allison Reynolds!" 

"Yeah, but Allison may be Andy's problem." Mike pointed out.

Ben glared at him. "You know-it-all prick! Who the _Hell_ asked you anyw-"

"EVERYONE GET IN HERE NOW!" Coach Sheldon roared. 

Everyone groaned quietly (_very_ quietly: Coach Sheldon was known for his exceptional hearing) and filed into the gymnasium. 

*****

While his friends were discussing him, Andy sat against the wall, fuming. He knew that Mike, Ben and James were talking about him. He could feel it in his bones. 

_Fuck! What the hell am I going to do? _Andy fumed to himself. _Allison's mad at me, and now my friends are talking about me behind my back! I thought it was only girls who were supposed to do that shit! They know that something is up, and they just won't let it go?! All I need now to complete my shitty day is for Coach Sheldon to get wind of my apparent "lacklustre attitude" on Sunday, and then scream my fucking head off-_

"CLARK!" Coach Sheldon bellowed. 

"Fuck!" Andy cursed under his breath. He looked up at Coach Sheldon. "Yes, Coach?" Andy asked, getting to his feet. 

"Get over here!" Coach Sheldon snapped. 

Andy walked over to the Coach. "Yes, Coach?" he repeated. 

Coach Sheldon frowned at Andy. When he spoke his voice was firm. "Andy, I have just heard about your rather unenthusiastic performance at Sunday's meet." He said to Andy seriously. "And I must say I'm not impressed. Yes, you won, but that was based on your natural ability. If you had really been into it, you could have flattened that guy in a third of the time it took you." Coach Sheldon continued. 

Andy could feel the anger boiling inside him. But he could also see that all of his strength was gone. Standing up to his father, and then his fight with Allison, it had taken it out of him. So instead of standing up for himself, Andy just stood there and took the criticism that the coach gave to him. It was the cowardly, weak way out, and Andy didn't feel good doing it.

_"You have problems! You do everything everyone tells you to do! **That** is a problem!" _Allison's voice came back to haunt him._ "You can't think for yourself!"_

_You're right, Allison. _Andy thought to himself, trying to block out Coach Sheldon's nagging. _I can't think for myself. That is a **big** problem. But do you know **why** I can't think for myself? Because I'm weak. Which is why I'm standing here and taking this dickhead's crap. I'm weak…_

"…do you understand, Andy?"

Andy raised his head and looked at Coach Sheldon again. "Yes." He replied. 

Coach Sheldon nodded. "Good. I just don't want you to blow your ride, that's all." he concluded, patting Andy on the back in a friendly way. Andy tensed, but the teacher didn't notice, because he was already yelling to the rest of the class: "EVERYONE GET IN HERE NOW!"  

Everyone scrambled in to the room including, to Andy's surprise, Larry Lester. 

His own words echoed in his mind. _"When I was sitting in Vernon's office, all I could think about was Larry's father. And Larry having to go home and explain what happened to him. And the humiliation...fucking humiliation he must've felt. It must've been unreal...I mean, how do you apologize for something like that? There's no way..."_

_I wonder if Brian still had that gun…_ Andy wondered, as he walked back over to his previous place against the wall, and sat back down. 

*****

_And just when I thought PE couldn't get any worse…_Andy thought irritably. 

"Today, ladies, we will be climbing the ropes." Coach Sheldon sneered at the twenty-seven boys assembled in front of him. "There are three ropes. You will form vertical processions of nine, and climb the ropes." Coach Sheldon instructed. "This will be taken as part of your overall fitness assessment for your report mark." He snapped, and chose to ignore the collective groan from most present. "Right, line up!" the teacher bellowed, and watched with amusement as most of the class jumped, and then ran over to get into lines. Andy was two people behind Larry Lester. Ben was first in line, James was second. 

_Man, what the fuck is this? The U.S. Marines?! _Andy thought irritably. 

"START! NOW!" Coach Sheldon roared.

Those first in line immediately started to clamber up the ropes. Ben Lopez climbed up to the top in three seconds flat. He jumped down, and the next person in line, James, started to climb. 

There was a knock at the main doors to the gym. Mrs. Muir, one of the ladies from the school office stood there, looking impatient. "Ah, Coach Sheldon, may I speak with you for a moment?" 

Coach Sheldon nodded curtly. "Of course," he replied, and walked over to the double doors. "AND I EXPECT ALL OF YOU TO CLIMB THOSE DAMN ROPES!" he snapped.

"Grumpy prick," somebody muttered, causing most of the class to snigger. 

Andy stared at the ceiling moodily while he waited for his turn. He was just beginning to contemplate trying tpo drown himself in the showers when-

THUMP!  

"OWWWWWWWW!"

Andy's head snapped up to see Larry Lester on the ground, obviously in severe pain due to the fact that he had fallen from a great height right onto his still-injured backside. 

Ben Lopez and Ben Houghton started laughing, along with all the other jocks. 

"Oh, the wimp isn't gonna _cry_, is he?" Ben sneered. "Because I bet his arse is still sore from last Monday!" 

everyone was laughing now, except Andy. 

He knew what he had to do. 

He looked at Ben. "Shut up." He snapped, and bent down to help Larry up. 

Ben, Mike and James were shocked. 

"What the hell are you helping him for?" James shrieked.

"You're the one who pulled the prank, remember?" Ben reminded him.

"And it was bloody funny!" Mike added. 

"Yes, and that's exactly why I'm helping him: because it's my fault, and I'm sorry. And I never, ever should have done it." He looked at Larry right in the eyes. "Will you forgive me? For the stupid prank I pulled?" he asked. 

Larry just looked at him, mouth hanging open. 

"Please? I know I don't deserve it, but just think about it, okay?" 

Larry nodded slowly. "Uh, okay." He said after a moment, before Mrs. Muir realised what was happening and bustled over, ushering Larry to the sick bay.

_Well, that went rather well. I wasn't expecting that. There are just some things you can never bet on to be the way you think it will go. _Andy mused to himself, as he watched Larry leave the gym. _They always turn out differently, usually for the worse. _ Andy smiled to himself. _But today it turned out better. I just hope it goes that well with Allison…_

"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!" Coach Sheldon bellowed. "I LEAVE YOU FOR FIVE MINUTES AND YOU SLACK OFF?! GET BACK TO WORK!" 

Andy smirked. _Well, at least some things in life can always be counted on to be the same. _

And, ignoring the glances he was getting from everyone, and the whispers of "What the hell…?" Andy climbed up his rope. 


	11. Trigonometry Made Simple

**Author's Note: **when I say 'applied symmetry in advanced geometry and trigonometry', I mean that it is advanced trigonometry and geometry in one chapter, as well as symmetry applied in advanced geometry. Like two separate parts of one chapter. Page 248 is the title page for that chapter. I know it weird, but it's exactly like this in the maths textbook of one of my cousins. Sorry if any confusion was caused for anyone over this (**cough-cough****_Nemmy!_****cough-cough**)

**Second Author's Note:** yes, Brian is a little bit dopey towards the end of the chapter, but you remember in the movie, he blurted a lot of things out without thinking, so it isn't as if he's OOC. And, he started _crying_ in front of them, for goodness sake, so it isn't as if he isn't emotional. 

_For all other author's notes and the disclaimer see Chapter One. Please read them before reading the fic. Thanks. Send feedback to nova_mist@yahoo.com Please read and review._****

**========================**

**The Altered View Monday Can Bring**

**========================**

**March 26th, 1984**

====================================

**Chapter Eleven – Trigonometry Made Simple **

====================================

Brian walked apprehensively through the halls his maths classroom. When he went to the library with his friend Jeff, they had met up with Scott Portman, another of their friends. The fourth member of their group, Renford Li, wasn't arriving at school until at least third period, due to a dentist appointment. Larry Lester, who Scott reckoned he had seen in the science hallway five minutes ago, was nowhere in sight. So Brian, Scott and Jeff had sat around in the library discussing the differences between _Star Wars _and_ Star Trek_ until the bell had rung. 

But Brian hadn't really been focused on the conversation. Particularly when he had to try very, very hard not to laugh when he spotted Carl the Janitor and Mr. Dennis, the school handyman, having an argument over what possibly could have shattered the glass in the door of the Foreign Languages annex in the library. Brian knew full well that Andy had broken it on Saturday after his spectacular dancing performance after smoking too much weed. 

"I'm telling you, man, that light-sabre noise, I bet you they got at least half of it from recording a refrigerator motor." Scott insisted. 

Jeff frowned. "I dunno, Scott," Jeff argued. "it sounds more like a car motor to me." they both looked at Brian. "Brian, what do you think?" Jeff asked him. 

Brian didn't reply, his thoughts miles away, still focused on Saturday, still wondering what the hell was going to happen now that Monday was finally here. His thoughts were doing nothing but run around in circles: _I mean, sure, Claire ran over to John, and they were standing very close together, and were talking about something, but that doesn't necessarily mean that any good came of that confrontation. They could have got angry and yelled at each other, and hate each other again. And what about Andy and Allison? What is going to happen there? Will Andy be strong enough to blow his jock friends off? He isn't as strong as Claire…_

"Bri?"

"Huh?" Brian asked. His two friends were standing there, looking at him intently. 

"We asked where you think they get the humming noise for light-sabres from." Scott told him. 

"Umm…I don't know." Brian replied. "Uh, we'll talk later, okay? I have to go, guys. Bye!" he said, running off quickly. 

_I don't know how this is all going to turn out, but I know that I have to find out, and soon. _Brian told himself. _And soon, or I think I'll spontaneously combust from the stress. I don't care if it's good or bad, I just have to know. I hope it works out. _

*****

"Right." Mr Simpson snapped as he finished calling the class roll. "There are four people away. Do you all have your books open to page 238?"

"Uh, excuse me, sir. You said page 248, not 238." Brian pointed out. 

Mr Simpson glared at Brian. "Well, thank God you're here, Johnson." He said snidely. "Otherwise I fear I might not be able to teach." 

Sniggers broke out around them room. 

"What are you all laughing at?" Mr Simpson snapped. 

The laughter died down. "Good call, Johnson." Asher Zhang, who was sitting in front of Allison and Brian, congratulated Brian. 

"Thanks." Brian replied, grinning. There was just something about Asher that you had to like. He was one of the school's party animals, and from what Brian could tell, a good friend of John's. Asher was one of those easy-going people who made everyone feels comfortable.  

"You two down the back! Knock it off!" Mr Simpson bellowed. "Page 248, now!" he ordered. 

Asher winked at Brian and Allison, and turned back around in his seat. 

Allison opened her maths textbook to the page instructed. Then, she groaned. "Oh, not this damn 'applied symmetry in advanced geometry and trigonometry' stuff again!" she complained. "It's complicated!"

Brian smiled slightly. "Would you like me to help you with it if you have any problems?" he offered. 

Allison just looked at him. For a terrible moment, Brian thought that he might have offended her. He opened his mouth to apologise, when suddenly, she smiled at him. "I'd like that very much. Thank you." She responded, very grateful. 

Brian smiled. "Happy to be of help." He responded.

It was about five minutes later when Allison suddenly tapped Brian on the shoulder. "Um, Bri?" she asked quietly. 

Brian looked up from his already half-completed exercise, and looked across at her. "What's up?" he asked. 

Allison smiled, embarrassed. "Um, well, I'm having a little problem with this equation." She said coyly. 

Brian smiled slightly. "Here, let me have a look to see if I can help." He skimmed over the equation, and then at Allison's working out. "Well, you have right technique of working out the problem, but you just have a couple of the steps the wrong way around." He explained, and proceeded to show her how to work out the problem. It continued this way for the rest of the period, with Brian helping Allison with a total of eight problems. With his help, not only did she understand it all now, but she finished it in no time. 

There was a collective sigh of relief as Mr Simpson left the classroom on an errand ten minutes before the period finished. Allison looked over at Brian. "You know, now that you have explained the problems to me, and how to work the damn things out, it's suddenly all so simple." Allison observed. 

Brian smiled. "It's always the way." He replied. 

"What do you have next period?"

Brian grimaced. "World History with Mrs Hammond." 

Allison squeaked. "Yuck." She sympathised. 

Brian smiled. "On the bright side, of course, Jeff and Larry are in that class, too."  

Allison looked at him sideways. "You mean Larry Lester?" she asked cautiously. 

Brian nodded. "Uh-huh." He shook his head. "He was at school this morning, yet he didn't meet up with us." 

"Do you think he still suffering from what happened to him last Monday?" Allison asked, referring to how Andy had attacked Larry, but was careful with her words in case anyone was eavesdropping. 

Brian shrugged. "Well, it has been a week, and the…injuries…are healed. He's still a bit upset, I guess, but I think it's more the shit that he got from his older brother over it that is the thing that's worst for him." 

Allison frowned. "His older brother?" she asked.

"Yeah, Tom Lester." Brian said, a hint of bitterness in his voice. 

"The college varsity football champion?" Allison squeaked. 

Brian nodded. "Uh-huh." He confirmed. "Tom isn't very intelligent, yet he is very good at sports. Also very tall and imposing. Which is why he picks on Larry so much." 

Allison grimaced. "Sounds like fun." She said. 

"Yeah, a real barrel of laughs, Larry has assured me." 

"Don't their parents know?" Allison asked.

"Tom only does it when they aren't around." Brian replied. 

"Well why doesn't he just tell th-"

BRRRRIIIIIINNNNNNNNNGGGGGG! BRRRRRRIIIIIINNNNNNNNNGGGGGG!

"Aw, cool _shit_!" Asher yelled loudly over the echo of the bell. "Free half-period!" 

Everyone bolted out of the room, anxious to get to freedom. 

Allison turned to Brian, but he started to speak before he had the chance to. "We'll talk later. I have to go an find Larry, and you have to go and find Andy, and sort out your disagreement." 

Allison blushed. "Yeah, you're right." 

Brian smiled at her, and started to walk in the other direction. 

Allison dashed down the hall towards the gym to find Andy. 

Brian grinned to himself. _They'll work it out._ He told himself. _Now, to find Larry and the others. _

*****

It took Brian a good fifteen minutes to find Larry Lester. Larry was in the boys' bathroom near the art rooms, looking into the mirror with such intensity that Brian thought Larry might have been looking for the meaning of life. 

"Uh, Larry?" Brian asked hesitantly. 

Larry didn't respond. He was still completely transfixed on the mirror, as if it held the answers to the mysteries of the universe. 

Brain frowned. _What the hell is going on here?_ he asked himself. "Larry?" he asked again. "Larry, are you alright?"

Larry's eyes flickered, as if he were coming out of a trance. He turned to face Brian. "He apologised." He whispered to Brian, awed. 

Brian looked at Larry, confused. "Um, huh?" he asked, knowing he didn't sound particularly eloquent. 

Larry smiled a faraway smile. "He apologised to me, Brian. In front of everyone. Andrew Clark apologised to me." 

Brian's jaw dropped. "Andy apologised to you?" he asked. "In front of everyone, you say? You mean, in front of the entire class? And Coach Sheldon?" Brian thought he might faint from complete shock. 

Larry smiled, and looked Brian right in the eyes. "Yes." He replied, nodding, his black curls bouncing. "Coach Sheldon was out of earshot, talking at the gym doors with one of the office secretaries about something. We were climbing up the ropes in the gym, and I lost my grip and slid down the rope at the speed of light and fell straight onto the ground, landing on my butt."

Brian winced.  

Larry looked at the ground. "The pain was so bad there were tears in my eyes, and Ben Lopez was sneering: 'Oh, the wimp isn't gonna _cry_, is he? Because I bet his arse is still sore from last Monday!'. And everyone was laughing, except Andrew. He looked at Ben, and said: 'shut up.' and he came over to me to help me up. His friends were yelling: 'What the hell are you helping him for? You're the one who pulled the prank, remember? And it was bloody funny!'"

Larry suddenly looked Brian right in the eyes again. "And Andrew said to Ben: 'Yes, and that's exactly why I'm helping him: because it's my fault, and I'm sorry. And I never, ever should have done it.' And he looked at me, and asked me if I would forgive him for the cruel prank he pulled." 

"I knew it!" Brian cried without thinking. "I knew he had it in him! He and Allison will be made up in no time!"

It was Larry's turn to look confused. "What do you mean?" he asked, voice quivering slightly. "Who's Allison?" 

Brian looked at Larry, who was looking very apprehensive. "Oh, nothing. Just that I know Andy…er, I mean, Andrew…"

Larry noticed the slip and raised his eyebrows.  

Brian continued quickly, so that Larry wouldn't think that anything was fishy. "…isn't like the rest of his friends. Sure, he can be a self-obsessed dickhead at times, but otherwise he seems to be a nice guy." Something was telling him that now was not a good time to tell Larry that he'd made friends with Andy over Saturday detention. 

"Oh, okay…" Larry said, still sounding a little uncertain. 

"So, how are you feeling?" Brian asked Larry, before Larry could ask _him_ anything. Like how exactly he knew Andrew Clark so well. Or ask him again who Allison was. 

"Better." Larry said after a moment. Brian was relieved that Larry was letting the matter drop. For now, anyway. "There was only a little bit of skin peeled off," Larry continued after a moment. "And that has pretty much healed over. There's just some bruising left over, which I'm sure has been made worse by the fall I had in gym." 

"Are you okay from that?" Brian asked, concerned. Brian just hoped that Larry wouldn't break down in tears: Larry always had been far too emotional for his own good. 

"Yeah, I'm fine. Although I don't think Coach Sheldon is. He just about screamed Andrew's head off about him helping me. And then started going on about some wrestling meet he went to on Sunday." 

"Sunday?" Brian blurted. "But he told me that it was next Saturday…er, I mean…"

Larry was looking at him suspiciously. "What do you mean 'he told me'?" Larry asked sharply. "Since when did you talk to Andrew Clark?" 

_Oh, no. I said that out-loud, didn't I?_ Brian thought, panicked. _It must be the stress getting to me._

He looked at Larry again, who was getting more suspicious by the second. "Well?" Larry asked him again. "Since when did you and Andrew Clark talk to each other?"

"Uh, detention on Saturday." Brian said vaguely, remembering for one tiny instant… 

_"I just wanna tell, each of you, that I wouldn't do that...I wouldn't and I will not! 'Cause I think that's real shitty." Brian said, sniffing slightly to try and calm himself. _

_Claire looked at him. "Your friends wouldn't mind because they look up to us." She told him. _

_Brian laughed mirthlessly, a harsh, mostly unfamiliar sound that hurt his throat. _Oh, is only you knew, Princess, what my friends think of people like you. _Brian thought, smiling bitterly to himself._ If I started hanging around people like you and Andy, they'd disown me, thinking that I'd abandoned them because I think that you lot are better than they are. Ironic really, when I know that none of us are any better than anyone else, not really. 

_"You're so conceited, Claire." Brian replied instead of voicing his thoughts, once again on the verge of tears. "You're so conceited."_

"Brian?" Larry repeated. 

"Yes?" Brian asked. 

"You were in detention with him?" Larry asked. "Was it just the two of you?" 

"Uh, no." Brian replied, shaking his head. "There were three others besides Andy…er, _Andrew_…and myself." 

Larry narrowed his eyes. "You keep calling him Andy instead of Andrew. Only his _friends_ call him Andy." Larry accused. He said the word 'friend' as if it were a curse word. 

"Uh, well-"

Larry didn't give him time to finish. "Does that mean that you are his _friend_?" Larry asked. 

"Uh, well, I'm not sure exactly-"

But Larry wasn't even listening, and was simply making his own assumptions. "You're _friends_ with that dickhead?" Larry shrieked, over-emotional.  "That arsehole beats me up and you become his _friend_?" Larry continued incredulously. "And at the detention he gets as punishment for doing that to me?!" 

"Larry, I-"

"No, Brian. Forget it. Don't say anything. If you want to be friends with people like that, that is your choice."

"But I thought you said he apologised and you forgave him…"

Larry laughed. "No, I said he apologised. I didn't say I forgave him. He told me to think about it. And I replied, 'Uh, okay.' That doesn't mean anything." Larry looked at Brian. "You know what he did! Do you really think that I would forgive him that easily?!" 

"No." Brian replied. "Of course not. But you just need to know that he isn't a complete arsehole." Brian said carefully. "And he really is sorry. He only did it because his father was-"

"I DON'T CARE WHY HE DID IT!" Larry exploded. "Don't you understand?" he pleaded with Brian. He turned and walked out of the room. 

Brian ran after him. "Larry, wait!" Brian yelled after his friend. "Just-"

BRRRRRIIIIIIINNNNGGGGGGG! BBBBRRRRRIIIIIINNNNNNGGGGGG!

"Shit!" Brian cursed loudly, getting a funny look from several people in the hall. "Oh, **_why_** can this not be easier!" he snapped, and ran to World History as fast as he could. _I'm risking all my normal friendships for these people, and I still don't even know if they want to be friends or not!_ He thought to himself as he ran past the lockers in the hallway near World History. _This is stupid! So incredibly stu-_

"OW!" Brian hadn't been looking where he was going and tripped over somebody's schoolbag.

"Oh, crap, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to leave my bag there like that! I…_Brian_?" 

Brian's head snapped up. "Andy!" he blurted. 

Andy smiled at him, and leant down to help him up. "Shit, sorry, dude." Andy apologised again. "That was a pretty stupid place to put my bag, eh? Are you okay?" Andy asked, pulling Brian to his feet.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Brian replied, feeling relieved. Andy was being nice to him. He only hoped it would hold out.

"How was your weekend?" Andy asked, keeping the conversation going. 

Brian was surprised. _So he **does** want to talk. _Brian pondered. _Interesting…_"Yeah, it was okay. Nothing much happened. Although one good thing is that my father is away for a bit, visiting my gre-"Brian trailed off as he saw Allison walking up to them both. 

Curious as to why Brian had stopped talking, Andy followed his gaze. He immediately looked a little green. 

"Oh, hi, Allison." Brian said casually, trying - and failing – to keep the grin off his face. "Fancy seeing you here." 

Allison blushed, as did Andy. "Uh, hi, Brian." Allison said quietly, looking at him, then flicking her gaze to Andy. "You're a hard man to find." She told Andy. 

Andy looked like some great internal battle was going on inside him. "Uh, sorry." He replied. "And I'm sorry about earlier, too, I just-"

Brian smiled. "I'll leave you to it." He said told them.

They both looked at him and smiled. "Okay, Bri, see you later, dude." Andy said.

Allison nodded. "Yes, we'll catch up later, okay?" 

Brian nodded, and winked at Allison, who grinned. And waving over his shoulder, Brian walked down the hall to his World History class. 


	12. Concealer and other Catastrophes

**Author's Note:** yes, I have noticed that the chapters about Claire and John are the longest. But Andy and Brian piss me off. :P Allison is cool, though! This chapter was originally twice as long, but I cut it in half, which explains the rather abrupt ending to this chapter. Anyway, I'm listening to _The Breakfast Club Soundtrack_ while writing this, which should help! ^_^ 

**Second Author's Note: **Modess = sanitary pads/maxi pads/things that are far more comfortable than tampons, and serve the same purpose. Textiles = sewing/clothes designing class. 

**Warning:** some sappiness ahead! But not all that much! ~_^ And sorry if this drags a bit. And sorry it's so long. But please, bear with me. And please review!

_For all other author's notes and the disclaimer see Chapter One. Please read them before reading the fic. Thanks. Send feedback to nova_mist@yahoo.com Please read and review._****

**========================**

**The Altered View Monday Can Bring**

**========================**

**March 26th, 1984**

==========================================

Chapter Twelve – Concealer and other Catastrophes 

==========================================

Claire led John through the halls until they finally reached the staff bathroom on the third floor. 

"The staff bathroom?" John asked her incredulously. 

"They never use this one." Claire explained. "All the way up on the third floor? Do you really think they could be bothered to come all the way up here just to take a leak? And we have even less of a chance of being interrupted this period because of the staff meeting." She pointed out. 

John nodded. "Good point, Red. You ain't just a pretty face." 

Claire looked at him slyly. "You think I'm pretty?" she asked him. 

John went red, which Claire thought was a fascinating thing. She didn't know that John could actually look embarrassed. "Yeah, beautiful." he replied, not looking at her. "I can't believe these arseholes get bench-sinks that are actually strong enough to hold five people!" John snapped, hoisting himself up to sit on the bench sink, leaning against the wall. One of his feet dangled into one of the sinks. "And clean mirrors, to. Fucking hell!" he leaned forwards to look in the mirror, and pulled back his hair. He winced. "Okay, maybe it's better to have dirty mirrors." He whispered. 

The bruise had continued to swell, and was now turning purple. 

"You fell over, huh?" Claire asked sceptically. 

John spun around and glared at her. "Well, that's what I told you, isn't it?" he snapped harshly. 

Claire glared back at him, defiant. "That's bullshit, John!" she hissed. John looked up at the ceiling, upset. "That bruise of yours has been caused by something far more serious than you just falling over. It looks like somebody punched you!" 

John's head snapped around, and he looked at her, surprised. His eyes were wide with shock and maybe…was that a trace of fear? "What?" he snapped. "What do you mean 'it looks like somebody hit me'?" he asked, jumping down of the counter to stand in front of her. 

Claire frowned. "Exactly what I said. The bruise looks like it was caused by a fist slamming into your face at maximum velocity." She replied. She was worried. John looked scared. 

"I…I…" he trailed off, his eyes darting around wildly, as if he was subconsciously looking for an escape route. 

"Did someone hit you?" Claire asked him quietly. She was becoming afraid. Had someone actually hit John that hard as to cause a bruise that nasty? Who had done it? 

_John pulled back his sleeve, revealing a circular burn scar on his right arm, near his elbow. "See that? It's about the size of a cigar...Do I stutter? You see, this is what you get in my house when you spill paint in the garage."_
    
    Claire bro8ught her hand to her mouth and gasped, shocked. She gasped. "John…your father…did he…"

John smiled bitterly. "My father…hit me." John whispered, looking down at the ground, avoiding Claire's eyes. John laughed mirthlessly. "Just another day in the good old Bender household."  He said sourly, his voice cracking. 

Claire put a hand under John's chin, lightly lifting his head up so she could see his face, lifting his hair away again to examine the bruise. "It looks like he punched you, John, and pretty hard, too. Are any of your teeth broken? Here, show me your teeth."

John just looked at her in wonderment. "You…" he paused. "You actually _care_?" he asked her incredulously. 

Claire looked him in the eyes, and gave him a funny look. "Of course I care, John." 

"I'm not used to anyone caring about me, that's all." It slipped out before John could stop it. He looked embarrassed, and tried to pull away from Claire, but she pulled his hands into her own. 

"John, why did he hit you?" Claire asked softly.

John looked down at the ground again. He sighed deeply. _She'll know if you are lying. And if I don't tell her now, sometime in the future I'll probably break down, crying like a baby, about how Daddy Dearest beat me._

John sighed heavily again. "I accidentally knocked over my father's bottle of beer – the last in the house – and it fell to the floor and broke." He replied after a long silence. 

"He hit you for that?" Claire asked incredulously before she could stop herself. But Claire had a nagging feeling that John was hiding something.  

John looked up at her sharply, eyes blazing. "Well, not everyone can have a _perfect_ fucking family like you, Princess." He snarled venomously. 

It took all of Claire's strength to not just drop John's hands and storm off, yelling derogatory terms over her shoulder, running back to the likes of Geena, Hannah, Mandy, Brittany and Jody, who were so wrapped up in their artificial lives it made Claire sick. 

But Claire knew John better than that, now. She knew that it was just on the tactics he used to try to drive people away, one that usually worked.

But not this time. 

Claire just continued to hold John's hands in hers, and lock her eyes with his own. "My family is no where near perfect, John." She whispered. "As I told you on Saturday, my parents only use me to get back at each other. All they ever do is fight. And on Saturday night, they had a fight so bad that my father slapped my moth-" she stopped speaking abruptly, embarrassed of what she had started to tell him.  She looked down at the ground, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. 

And, slightly hesitant, John reached over and gently lifted her head up and looked her in the face. 

"Don't cry, Claire," he said softly, in barely more than a whisper. "They aren't worth it. Their failings and mistakes aren't worth your tears." 

Claire smiled through her tears. He was right, of course. Her parents' failings were not worth crying over. And if John – whose parents were far worse than her own – wouldn't cry over his parents, she would not cry over her own. 

She looked at John's face carefully, noticing the fact that John had pulled his hair back over his face again. "So, are your own parents worth crying over, John?" she whispered.

"No, of course not." John replied airily.

Claire smiled sadly. "So then why are you crying?"

John looked startled. "I'm not crying." He snapped sharply. "Why the flying fuck would I cry for?" he continued. 

Claire felt tears prick the back of her eyes. "Oh, John…" Then she leaned forwards and pulled him into her arms. She was crying. "Oh, John. John, John, John. How could anyone do that to you?" she sobbed.

John sounded like he was choking, and pulled Claire back so he was holding her at arms length. "Didn't you hear Vernon on Saturday, Claire?" he whispered. "I'm a bum. White trash. I ain't worth shit."

"That's not true!" Claire protested forcefully. "You aren't worthless!"

John tilted his head to the side. "I'm not?" 

"Of course you aren't!" Claire snapped angrily. "Jesus Christ!"

John smiled at her. "So, you actually _do _like me?" he asked her playfully. 

Claire glared at him. "Well of _course_ I like you, dimwit!" Claire replied sharply. "Honestly! What is it with men? You have to tell them the same thing a thousand times over before they understand you, and even then they think that you are only joking!" she said, exasperated. "Right, you, get up on that damn bench so we can do this." 

"Yes, ma'am!" he saluted her, grinning, and he lifted himself back up onto the bench where he was sitting previously. Claire noticed that John was doing everything he could to not see his bruise in the mirror behind him. She jumped up onto the bench beside him, and they faced each other, John sitting Indian-style and Claire kneeling. 

Claire opened her bag, and tipped the contents out onto the bench in front of her. A comb, make-up compacts, a _Cosmopolitan _magazine, a couple of sanitary pads still in their wrappers, hair-ties and the tube of anti-inflammatory cream fell out.

John looked at it all in fascination, and looked at the sanitary pads. "You don't use tampons?" John asked her curiously, before he could stop himself. 

Claire smiled at his innocent wonderment, and shook her head. "Nope. I took one look at one and thought: 'there ain't no way in the world that I'm going to stick one of those things up there!'" she replied.

John laughed so hard there were tears in his eyes. "Smart girl!" he told her.  

It was only then that Claire realised what she had said. "Shit, I didn't just say that out loud, did I?" she asked him.

John nodded at her. "Not so pristine, eh?" 

Claire giggled. "Shut up," she said good-naturedly, and opened the tube of and squeezed some onto her fingers. "Now, hold still. And tell me if I'm pressing down too hard." Claire whispered to him.

John looked up at her. His eyes glittered strangely. "Okay," he whispered. John held very still as Claire gently rubbed the lotion into his bruise. Claire was very careful to keep her nails out of the way, so as not to scratch him. 

John closed his eyes. He hadn't had anyone fuss over him like this since he was a little boy, and his mother and father actually cared about him. But that was a long time ago. _That's in the past, John._ he snapped at himself. _Leave it back there, where it belongs. In happier times. _

"That stuff you said about Victoria back in History, was it true?" Claire asked him, as she pulled the concealer tubes out of her bag, trying to think which one would best suit John's tanned skin. 

"Yes," John responded quietly. 

"You did that just to get the attention off me, didn't you?" Claire whispered, leaning back slightly. "And you said that about Victoria to defend me, right? To throw it back in her face  - and to let everyone know - that it's Victoria who is the slut, not me."

John smiled, embarrassed. "Yeah." He admitted. "Are you angry?"

Claire shook her head. "No," she whispered. "I'm not angry." 

John nodded, relieved, but didn't meet her eyes. He looked down at the ground. 

"Why?" she asked. "Why did you do it?" There were tears in her eyes. 

"Because you're my friend, Claire." John replied. 

Claire hesitated. "What did you mean, back in history, when you muttered that I was probably your only real friend in the entire world?" she asked in a whisper.  

John looked at her sharply, and for a moment, Claire was afraid that he'd get up and storm off and never talk to her again. Then, he sighed. He sounded defeated. "Exactly what it means." He responded. 

"That can't be true." Claire said softly. "What about all your friends that you normally hang out with?" she asked innocently. 

John snorted. "You mean Spike and Jarred – or Stoner and Jay as you'd probably know them when your little rich-bitch clique point them out." He spat. He then immediately regretted his harsh words when he saw the hurt expression on Claire's face. _Good one, John!_ he sneered at himself. "Look, Claire, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it, okay? I'm an arsehole, you know that."

Claire shook her head slowly. "No, John, it's okay. You're right, anyway. That is the only way I knew of them. Geena has pointed them out to me before. She pointed Stoner…err…I mean, Spike," she hastily corrected herself, and John smiled at her. "She pointed Spike out to me, who was standing with four other guys, and told me: 'They're the Stoners, Claire. Keep away from them. All they ever do is get high.'" Claire mocked Geena's slightly nasal voice. 

John was looking at her in a way that was slightly unsettling. Not in an angry way, and not in a sexual way, but it was unsettling all the same. It was like he was looking right into her soul, reading her mind. 

"Um, here, give me your hand." Claire said, wanting to change the subject. She gently pulled his hand into her own, and gently pulled off the glove, and wiped a few different concealer tones onto an uninjured part of his hand, finally finding the right one. She looked back up at him. "Well, I've found the right concealer tone." She told him. He looked at her suddenly, and then looked at his hand. He hadn't noticed what she was doing before now. He looked at his injured hand, and then back at Claire's face. He squinted slightly, as if trying to read her expression. 

She frowned slightly. "What?" she asked him, careful to keep her voice casual. 

"What, no comment on the messed-up state of my hand?"  John asked her sharply. 

Claire frowned again. "I didn't think you would want my opinion on it." she told him cautiously, pulling the make-up brushes required out of her bag, and covering the bristles with the concealer. Claire, gently pulling John's hair back, started to gently brush the concealer over the bruise.  

John closed his eyes again, and forced himself to relax. _She's not going to beat the shit out of you. _hereminded himself._ Just relax. She's trying to help you. _

Claire noticed that John was grimacing to himself, and frowned. He was obviously deep in though. Claire was about to ask him what was wrong, when he quite suddenly became calm. He wasn't smiling…but he wasn't grimacing either. _He looks almost…relaxed._ Claire mused. 

It took Claire at least twenty minutes to properly conceal John's bruise. When she was done, she leaned back to admire her handiwork. "Hah, I'm a genius!" Claire informed John. 

John, who had been distracted, lost in his thoughts, was startled. His head snapped up quickly, and his hazel eyes locked with Claire's brown ones. "Um, what?" he asked her, confused. 

Claire raised her eyebrows. "We're done. Concealer, lotion, everything." She repeated. "Take a look for yourself." She gestured to the mirror behind them. 

John looked at her for a moment, and then turned and looked at his reflection and saw…

Nothing. 

"It's gone!" he cried, amazed. He turned to face her. "Completely gone!"

Claire grinned. "I told you I was a genius." She giggled, leaning forward and gently pulling the tortoiseshell headband out of John's hair. 

John laughed. "Damn right you are!" he replied, turning this way and that, and being exceedingly happy when he found no dramatic change in colour, and that the swelling was already going down, and could only be seen at certain angels. He looked at Claire again and smirked. "There's more to you than meets the eye, Princess." 

"Well, I should hope so!" Claire replied. "I look like a ditz!" 

John laughed. "Yeah well, just because you _look_ like a ditz, that doesn't mean that you are a ditz." He told her. "But then again, only ditzy girls get a detention for skipping class to go shopping-OW!"

John was cut off as Claire playfully whacked him on the knee with the _Cosmopolitan_ magazine.

"Oh! She wounds me!" he said dramatically.

"Well, that's what you get for calling me a ditz!" she pouted. 

"But baby," he replied. "You _are_ a ditz!"

"Oh, like, shut up!" she said in a _Valley Girl_ accent. "You are so totally, like, disagreeable!"

John laughed at her theatrics. "Do you even know what a big word like 'disagreeable' means?" 

Claire started giggling again. Then John cracked up. They were having a playful tug-of-war with the _Cosmopolitan _magazine when-

BBBBBBRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNGGGGGG! 

"AHHH!" Both Claire and John nearly jumped out of their skins. Then they both burst out laughing. It was nothing but the warning bell that class was five minutes away. 

"Maybe we should switch to decaf." John suggested, as he and Claire got off the bench. Claire giggled and started to put all of her things back in her bag. John helpfully handed her the now bashed-up _Cosmo_. "Hmm, maybe it's not so bad that Madonna's face had been slightly dented."  John suggested. 

Claire smiled. "Here, show me." Claire then immediately cracked up after seeing that there was a dent in Madonna's face from where Claire herself had sent her shoe heel into it while trying to wrestle the magazine off John. "I don't know, I think it suits her." 

John smirked at her. "Yeah, it'll be the new fashion trend: face dents. All you need is for someone to send a high-heel into your face." He looked at the magazine again. "Preferably right into your forehead." He added, handing Claire her concealer compact and the anti-inflammatory cream. 

"Thank you, John." Claire said, putting the things in her bag. 

John reached for the next thing on the bench, which just so happened to be the modess. "Umm…" John said awkwardly. 

Claire giggled. _He's so cute._ She thought to herself. _Under that bad-ass exterior, he really is very sweet. _"Go on, they won't bite." 

"Are you sure?" John muttered, and gingerly picked them up by the corner of their wrapping, and handing them to her. She was trying very, very hard not to laugh. 

"Positive." She told him, opening the door to the bathroom. "Come on, we'll be late for second period." They started to walk down the hallway. "What do you have?"

"Uh, Biology." John replied. "We're doing that boring plant-growing experiment. Have you done it yet? You know, that one where you get to chose a plant, and then plant some seeds and then watch them grow, all the while making interesting 'observations' about how well the plant is growing under the heat lamps and everything?"

Claire smiled. "Yeah, we're doing that now as well. It is about as exciting as watching grass grow. Because we literally _are_ watching grass grow. Which plants are you using?"

John rolled his eyes. "Hydrangeas. My friend Asher chose them. Well, actually, I think he nicked them out of his grandmother's garden, but he stole the _dirt_ from the school garden beds." 

Claire burst out laughing. "Well, we all know that Asher Zhang is a very smart boy." She said.   

John laughed. "So, while I happen to have the incredible honour of watching Asher's stolen plants grow in dirt stolen from the school rose bed, what have _you_ got next period?"  he asked her. 

Claire thought for a moment, then she rolled her eyes. "Textiles." She replied. "My whole clique takes it. We're all in the same class." 

Suddenly, John looked uncomfortable, uncertain. "Your whole group, eh?" 

"Yeah, all of them." Claire replied, feeling her heart drop to her feet. "Shit." She muttered.

John glanced at her sharply. "What's the matter? Regretting this whole fiasco?" he asked harshly. _Well, Johnny Boy, game's up. She regrets it. She'll see all her little rich-bitch friends in textiles, and fall in to their pressures, and it'll all be over before you can say: 'You shallow bitch!'" _

Claire looked at him, annoyed. "Well of course I don't regret it!" Claire replied. Then she grinned. "Besides, do you really think I'd waste all my free samples on someone I didn't like?" she asked, turning in the hallway towards the Textiles room.

John laughed. "Well, I dunno, you could always get more free samples…" he replied, grinning at her annoyed expression. 

"From _that_ department store?" Claire asked him. "I don't think so! They're such tight-arses it's amazing they can function!" Then she looked at John very seriously, and stopped walking. They were just down the hall from the Shop room, in plain sight of everyone, but Claire hadn't seemed to notice this. "John, I'm not the leader of my clique. I'm just one of the followers. 

"That's why I was complaining on Saturday about the pressure that my friends put on me: because I don't put any pressure on them for anything." She held his hands between her own. "I've been a sheep, John. I haven't submitted my opinion. I've just done everything that Geena and Hannah have said. I've been sitting in the backseat. This isn't going to be easy for me. I know how they all work." She paused for a moment. "If they don't pester me for the details about us now, they'll do it later. But it'll probably happen as soon as we all sit down in the textiles room. But I will not succumb to their pressures this time, John." she told him. 

She looked him right in the eyes.  "You. Are. My. Friend." She told him. "I will not run you down to them. I will not stop being friends with you just because they think that I should be going out with a Preppie or a Jock. But I don't want to go out with a Preppie or a Jock. I like _you_. And if they have a problem with that, well, they can go fuck themselves."   

John looked at her in silence for a long moment. "You like me." he repeated. "As in you _like_ me." 

"Um, yeah." Claire replied, feeling embarrassed. "I _really_ like y-"

But she was cut off as John leaned down and kissed her right on the mouth. Claire was so shocked for a moment that she just stood there. 

John started to pull away, thinking he'd done the wrong thing, when suddenly, he felt Claire entwine her fingers in his longish hair. 

"Where do you think you are going?" she whispered playfully, pulling him back towards her, kissing him. And in less than five seconds, they were having a full open-mouth kiss right in the middle of the hallway. After a minute or two, they came up for air, and they stood there, arms wrapped around each other, grinning at each other, hearing the whispers in the hallway reach maximum volume.

"Oh. My. GAWD! Did you see that?"

"What the hell?"

"They're _kissing_ now?! In the middle of the hallway?!"

"But I thought all they did was sit together in History!" 

"Well, you two seem to be getting along very well." A very familiar voice said directly to Claire and John. They both turned their heads towards the source of the voice. __

John's blood ran ice cold in his veins. He looked deeply worried, a little fear creeping into his eyes. 

Claire noticed, and mouthed, _"What's wrong?"_ to John. 

John took a deep breath, and didn't reply. "Well, hello Dick," John said conversationally, trying to defuse the situation. _Shit, just go away, Vernon. I don't have the energy for this shit right now. We aren't breaking any rules, so fuck the hell off.  _

"Both of you. My office. Now!" Vernon snapped at them, and prodded them down the hallways until they reached his office.

"Shit." John and Claire muttered in unison. 


	13. IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT! PLEASE READ IT!

To the readers, 

Due to severe technical difficulties as well as my father being extremely (but typically) difficult about my so-called "excessive internet use", which is complete _bullshit_ by the way, I have been unable to post anymore chapters of The Altered View That Monday can bring. The fic has been written to chapter 6 and planned to chap 17. Chapter nine (the longest one yet) is nearly complete. 

With luck, I was hoping to be able, on Tuesday (today), to be able to post chapters 3-6 when I arrived at the public library. However, luck is not with me, as the only disk drive that is currently working on any of these lousy computers is on the only computer that is not connected to the Internet! Jesus! So now, we will have to wait yet again for these chapters to be posted. You will _definitely_ get them on Saturday, when I go to baby-sit my cousins, but to get it before then it would have to be because I go over to a friend's place…which probably won't happen until at least Sunday, as luck would have it. 

You cannot imagine how irritating this is for me as this is for you, in fact, Nemmy has to type this up and post it through our joint account. Just bear with me and sympathize for my aggravating, annoying, fucking irritating situation. With luck, my father will eventually get off my arse over this… sigh.

Thank you to all my reviewers, I appreciate your comments and feedback and remember, you can contact me at nova_mist@yahoo.com and don't get offended if I don't reply right away because my father is an idiot who doesn't know what he's doing or what he's talking about.

Don't give up hope,

Nova Mist 


	14. 2ND IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT! PLEASE READ!

Important Announcement!  
  
Right, finally the update! As I promised, I'm posting this on Saturday night while babysitting my little cousins, who are now in bed.  
  
Okay, I know, I know, this update has been a long time coming, but for those who have read the last announcement, you will know exactly why this has all taken so long. I have written all the way up to chapter fourteen, but have only posted up to chapter nine, because chapter ten is not yet complete.  
  
But hey, cut me some slack, okay? I have typed close to 40000 words in the last week or so. And even though almost half of those 40000 words were later deleted because it wasn't quite right, forty thousand words takes a lot of effort.particularly when my chapters always seem to end up taking on a mind of their own, and completely ignoring my intricate story plans! ARGH!  
  
Ahem.  
  
Anyway, good news. My father has finally stopped procrastinating, and disconnected from our crappy ISP, and hooked us up to a new one with unlimited download, as well as unlimited time. Of course, he'll make things as difficult as possible for me, no doubt, because he is a real arsehole sometimes, but my mum seems to be backing me more than backing him, so there is hope yet!  
  
I will update again soon, most likely this coming Thursday at my friend's place when I go over there, that is if my dad is still being a pain in the neck over this.  
  
Please send all feedback to nova_mist@yahoo.com and please rad and review! I appreciate you comments!  
  
Thanks everyone!  
  
Nova Mist 


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